


Angels and Phantoms

by PrincessTripsy



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991), Phantom of the Opera (2004)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Character Swap, Crossover, Drama & Romance, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-11-06 15:56:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 39,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17942732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessTripsy/pseuds/PrincessTripsy
Summary: Six years after the death of the woman he held most dear, Prince Erik discovers that he may not have lost her forever.  When he meets the young Christine Daae and is swept away by her uncanny resemblance to his love, the prince became determined to not let her slip through his fingers again.  He would do anything to keep her at his side, even if it meant keeping her imprisoned in his palace.A Beauty and the Beast retelling with the characters of Phantom of the Opera.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This is my WIP crossover of the 1991 animated Beauty and the Beast and the 2004 Phantom of the Opera. Both of these films had a huge impact on who I have become, and I have such a love for both of them. I decided one day to try and combine the two, taking the cast of Phantom of the Opera and placing them in the shoes of characters from Beauty and the Beast (with minor changes to behaviors and actions, as well as a few characters I added to help the story). I tend to be quite wordy and write length chapters. This has been a passion project of mine for quite some time and I am looking forward to [finally] finishing it.
> 
> Without further ado, I hope you enjoy Angels and Phantoms! (CC warmly accepted)  
> [Rating changed to M just to be on the safe side. Better safe than sorry!]
> 
> Character Equivalents  
> Belle: Christine  
> The Beast: Erik  
> Gaston: Raoul  
> Maurice: Gustave  
> Mrs. Potts: Madame Giry  
> Chip: Meg Giry  
> Lumiere: Firmin  
> Cogsworth: Andre

Once, in a time that has been long since forgotten, there lived a handsome prince, heir to the throne of a prosperous kingdom. He was well beloved by all of his subjects and, at even a young age, was a kind, just, and wise ruler. His striking appearance and gentle behavior caused many a woman in his land to dream of one day becoming his queen. In the eyes of his people, he was perfect and could do no wrong. He loved all and, in return, was loved by all. His parents, the king and queen, saw only greatness in him and strove to raise him to be the kindest, gentlest king he could possibly be.

For many years, the young prince knew naught but happiness, growing in the purest of joys. He was frequently seen in the town among his people, aiding those that needed it and doing all he could to improve the lives of his subjects. Hardly a day went by that he wasn't in public, wearing a large smile and showing warmth to all that crossed his path. If there was anything the prince enjoyed doing, it was being among his loyal, loving subjects. Yet if there was something he cherished even more than that, it was music.

When the prince wasn't in the village doing all he could to better the lives of those who owed him fealty, he was visiting the opera houses that were dotted about the land. He highly favored the one that rested just outside the lush forest that nested against the hill the palace rested on: the Opera Populaire. He visited this particular opera house so frequently, he had been gifted a private box with the best view of the stage.

It was really thanks to his parents that the prince had such a strong love of the arts – they had instilled him with it at an early age. A private tutor instructed him in piano, the best voice teachers were hired to coach his singing and, later on, he taught himself to compose his own works. Whenever the prince was home in the palace, music flowed freely from his private music room and found its way into every corner of the castle.

As the young prince grew older, he only became kinder. It seemed that age would be unable to harden his soft heart like it had so many others. But one night, a tragedy occurred that changed the prince in a way that none could have foreseen.

In honor of the prince's twenty-second birthday, his parents hosted a large party in one of their many grand rose gardens. Every subject in the kingdom was invited to attend, but especially warm invitations were sent the young, eligible women that lived there. The party was meant to serve more than one purpose. It was in celebration of the prince's birthday, true, but the king and queen were hopeful that the prince would use it as an opportunity to find his future queen.

The celebration went on well into the night, as the king and queen were determined not to call an end until the prince had found his bride. The party was moved into the west wing, a large portion of the castle that was occupied by ballrooms, kitchens, dining halls, parlors, and the prince's personal music room. The simple celebration became a ball and it was at this point in the night that the prince found the woman of his dreams.

He had spent the day in conversation with many of the young girls, and those he had not had the time to speak to became his dance partners later in the night. Not a single one of them was able to reach his heart the way they had hoped, though he offered his friendship freely to each of them. Just when the kind and queen had started to think that he would never find a wife, a young woman approached him, asking for a dance. This surprised them all, that she would come to him instead of waiting for him to ask her as all others before her had. The prince himself was intrigued by her forwardness, even before he was captured by her beauty.

She was several years older than him, but had an enduring youth about her. Her gentle, doe-brown eyes held a strength none of the other women had possessed and her chocolate curls bounced freely around her slender shoulders. She had fair unblemished skin, though her hands were rough from a life of hard labor. The dress she wore was not elegant and did not seem to belong in a royal ballroom. Its bodice was unadorned and hugged her body tightly as if it didn't quite fit right. The skirt was flat and stiff, also lacking any kind of embroidery. Once it might have been a brilliant lavender, but now the color had all but faded from it, bleached by time and the sun. But on this young woman, the old dress seemed the most beautiful of ballgowns that not even his mother's dresses could compare to.

The prince eagerly accepted her offer and, from the moment he first held her in his arms, he knew that this woman would be the one he would marry. He had found his future queen.

But it was not to be.

As the world outside darkened, so did the ballroom. Though the happy prince had found his bride, the king and queen were lost in jubilation and wanted to celebrate his selection. In order for the party to continue, hundreds of candles and torches were brought in, flooding the west wing with bright firelight. The prince and his new bride-to-be danced until they couldn't dance another step, then disappeared into the prince's music room. Here, the pair sat at his ebony grand piano and talked, enjoying each other's company.

The prince learned much about his future bride: that she had been born into poverty and had spent her childhood working so her family could have money. She freely admitted that she had been married once before, but it had been a rushed event and both she and the man had rushed headlong into it. The prince was unconcerned by this, telling her that she would not have sought him out so if she had not been sure she was ready to marry again.

When the discussion turned to how she had helped her family survive, the young woman explained had done laundry for the richer families in town and had even worked in fields once or twice, a fact which appalled the prince. The young woman assured him that it hadn't bothered her, and quickly told him that when she hadn't been working, the one thing she loved to do most was sing.

It took only a bit of encouragement to get the woman to agree to sing with him. He accompanied her on the piano as she sight-read through a piece he had written himself. The pair sang his duet, her angelic Soprano blending beautifully with his powerful baritone. Their voices complimented each other perfectly and he knew they were meant to be entwined in song like this. The prince's desire to marry her was strengthened. When they had finished the duet, the young woman flushed and said she had never sang anything quiet so demanding before. As the prince complimented her on her exquisite voice, reassuring her that she had done beautifully, the pair heard a loud cry echoing through the halls of the west wing: "FIRE! FIRE IN THE BALLROOM!"

Immediately, the prince's desire to protect his people kicked in. He was on his feet in moments, telling his new love to flee the west wing as he went to help as many guests escape as he possibly could. His future bride, however, shared the prince's kindness and told him with all the force she could muster that there was no way she was leaving as long as others were still trapped. He considered ordering her to leave as her prince, but decided there was no time to argue. The prince took her hand in his and led her quickly out of the music room. Together, the pair raced into the ballroom where the guests had erupted into panic.

Looking around, it wasn't hard for the prince to discover the cause of the fire now licking at the walls of the ballroom. Some careless person, either a guest or a servant, had knocked over a table by the window that had been full of lit candles. The curtains had caught flame and, now, fire was licking at every wall around them and the ceiling high above them.

He and the woman started shouting at the terrified people, ordering them to make for the nearest exits. Already servants from the castle were doing their best to contain the fire as it swept out the doors and towards the other halls of the west wing. But the noise was too much, and their voices were swallowed. Although it broke his heart, the prince knew he and his love and to flee or they would be lost to the sweltering heat. The prince attempted to lead his bride-to-be to the hallway, but the pair never made it.

In the flood of people surging in different, chaotic directions, the prince and the young woman were torn apart, her hand wrenched from his. She was pulled along with the crowd, calling out for him. Frantic, the prince tried to reach her. As he ran, he was rammed from behind and fell. He fell on his right and the first part of him to touch the flaming curtains he had landed in was his face. The prince screeched in agony as the flames tore away at hair and skin. He rolled from the burning, clawing flames, clasping the right side of his face, but he could feel that immeasurable damage had been done. He found himself unable to do any more than writhe on the floor, screaming, screaming, screaming... The heat of the flames was so intense, and the prince longed for the release of death, the release from pain. Release from the burning, the burning, the constant burning!

Suddenly, an older woman dressed in the clothes of the royal family's service was at his side, grabbing his arm, and wrenching him to his feet. She led him from the ballroom and out of the burning west wing. As they crossed the threshold, the large doors were thrown shut in the hopes of preventing the fire from spreading any further. The prince felt the coldness of the fireless air and as he fell unconscious heard the woman screaming, "Your prince! Help your prince! He's badly injured! Help him!"

When at last he regained consciousness, he was in a hospital bed, the right side of his face and top of his head covered in bandages. Doctors and nurses rushed about him, tending to their various patients. It destroyed him seeing that many of them were being treated for fire and smoke injuries. They had been injured at his party, in his home. It was his fault.

He attempted to catch anyone's attention, but the staff was overworked and looked right past him. After a while, he managed to grab the arm of a passing doctor, asking him questions as to what happened to his guests and the palace.

The west wing had been completely consumed by flames, he learned, but thankfully the fire had not spread any further. While the doors to the west wing would not have been able to stop the flames themselves, it was the assistance of people who had heard the screams and saw the flames that finally ended the horror. Those that got free of the west wing had, for the most part, no major injuries. There were some bad burns, but nothing that couldn't be treated. However, those that had not gotten out before the large doors had closed...they had not made it out. Here, the doctor hesitated, not sure of how to continue. Swallowing, he finally managed, "Many of the deceased have been given names by family members and...I am sorry, my prince, but the king and queen were among the first to be identified."

It felt as if someone had knocked the wind out of him. His parents...dead? It was impossible! His heart in his throat, he heard himself ask, "There was a girl... A girl with curly brown hair. She wore an old lavender dress. Not a ballgown, a day dress. I spent the night with her. What happened to her?"

At that, the doctor was quiet. "I know the girl you ask after. The servant who brought you in pointed her out to me when she came in, told me to do everything I could. I _did_ do everything, my prince. But the burns were too severe. The smoke damage to the lungs...it was too much. She passed away early this morning. We can bring you to her, if you would like..."

The prince heard no more. He remembered no more. He knew only his sorrow, his loss, and his broken and hardening heart. It was their fault, he told himself. The cowards who started the fire. Who refused to listen. Who destroyed his home. Who murdered his parents. Who took her from his grasp. Who swept her away. Who burned her alive. The people...their fault. His heart hardened, his soul darkened.

After that day, the prince became absent. He returned to the palace where he lived alone, firing all but four of his closest staff, keeping them alone for company. He never went back to the village. He stopped funding the opera houses. His box seat at the Opera Populaire went unused, collecting dust.

When his servants came to buy needed supplies the first time after the tragedy, the townsfolk asked nervously after the prince, but all they said was that he was no longer himself. Much of his music room had been destroyed in the fire and what had survived, the prince had destroyed himself. What sheet music hadn't burned had been torn to shreds. Anything that even slightly resembled music was thrown from the palace and all traces of it were banned from its halls. Only silence filled the palace now. After that, they too were never seen in the village.

Within the matter of days of the servants' visit, the first and last word was received from the prince. A warning to all that they were to stay away from his palace. Those who wandered to close would spend their days locked in a dungeon with no hope of release. The prince made good on this promise. Those that ignored his warning and went to the palace to seek him out were never seen again. It was a while before they noticed that those that spoke ill of the prince or his parents were also disappearing as well.

When the young brunette had perished, so had the prince that had been kind and loving. In his place was an angry shell of a man who despised all but his servants, who destroyed instead of building. The townspeople grew to fear the prince and his dark promises, fearing that he had ears everywhere, listening for voices speaking against him. Now, they could only hope that somehow, someday, the old prince could be reached and they would have their kind and gentle ruler returned.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There won't actually be too much of characters singing in this story. Not entirely sure how that happened, given this is based off of two musicals but what're you gonna do! Whenever there is singing, though, that text is bolded and italicized.

The crow of the rooster just outside her window shocked Christine Daaé out of her peaceful sleep. Glancing ruefully out the window, she cursed that morning had come so soon. She had been having such a wonderful, pleasant dream, and she hadn't wanted it to end. And yet, so soon after being woken up, the dream was drifting from memory. Trying to gather it at this point was like trying to hold water in her hands; it just slipped between the fingers. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying desperately to hang on to it for just a moment longer... But it was gone. Hopeless. With a sigh, she pushed back her blankets and climbed out of bed.

She swiftly changed from her blue nightdress into a white long-sleeved shirt. Over this, she slipped on a dress made of an azure-blue dyed cotton. She brushed her hands over the soft fabric, straightening out the wrinkles. Satisfied the dress was presentable, she grabbed a brush from her little wooden vanity, sat down, and started brushing out her chocolate curls. Her pale, brown-eyed reflection stared out at her as she wrenched the brush through her bed-head and, when her hair was successfully detangled, she put the brush down, stood from her vanity and exited her room.

Her father was already up. She could hear him in the kitchen of their small, three-room cottage, tuning his violin. Christine walked down the hallway past pictures of her father and mother into the room that served as the Daaé kitchen and living room.

Gustave Daaé stood in front of the table, sheets of music spread out before him. He held his violin in one hand, bow in the other, and was working with a focused expression as he put the instrument back into tune. Her father had a pale, gaunt face and a full head of curly black hair. While he, at first, could appear to be a humorless, cold person, it was easy to see in his sparkling eyes that Gustave had an approachable demeanor and appreciated a good joke as much as the next man.

"Good morning, Father," Christine called from the doorway as she approached.

Gustave quickly looked up at his daughter, his face brightening the way it always did when he laid eyes on her. "Good morning, my angel," he greeted her in return. A warm smile brought a youthful light to his face.

Christine placed a hand on his shoulder and planted a quick kiss on his cheek before turning to the table and picking up her white apron that she had thrown over the back of a kitchen chair the previous evening. Lying on the table in front of it was the book she had been in the middle of. It was open with the covers facing up, holding her place. She tied her apron around her waist as she asked, "What do you want to eat this morning?"

"Eggs will do," was his warm response.

The young brunette grabbed the book from the table and her wicker basket from the counter behind her before heading towards the back door of the cottage. Picking up where she had left off in her story, she called, "I'll be right back to start on that." Christine pushed the door open and exited the home.

She took a moment to look up from her book, grabbing a deep breath of fresh air, enjoying the crisp, morning breeze that gently blew her hair back. If there was a time of year Christine loved most, it was the autumnal season. Right after the world was done overheating, just before it was ready to freeze... There was a perfect, cool, crisp feeling to the air. Just beautiful. She spent every spare moment she had outside, curled up under a tree with her current book.

The small farm that served as their backyard was already full of activity. The chickens were out of the coop, pecking at the gravel in search of seeds. The cows had already been put out to graze and were munching contentedly on the grass. The horses were in the corral, whinnying and racing around, getting out the last of the previous night's rest. Christine smiled, knowing Gustave would have come out to do this earlier in the day so she would have the chance to sleep in a bit longer. He had done the same thing for her mother when she had lived here. Gustave hadn't wanted the women in his life to work a single day and had done everything he could to bare the worst of the farm life burdens though there were still some responsibilities that had fallen on her mother and, now, on her.

With the sounds of the farm surrounding her and her nose buried in her book, Christine started for the chicken coop. Turning the page with her thumb and pointer finger, she knelt down outside the small wooden building. Christine reached carefully inside with her left arm, keeping her right free to hold the book and turn pages, and felt around for a bit before finding what she was looking for: the hard, oval shell of an egg. She pulled her arm out, egg in hand, and placed it in the basket. Christine did this several more times, making sure she collected all the eggs. When she was sure there were no more left, she climbed to her feet, brushed the dust off her apron, and picked up her basket.

Gustave had, in the meantime, finished tuning his violin and was now practicing his newest piece. His bow flew across the strings, his fingers danced over the bridge, and his upper body swayed in time with the beautiful song that came from the instrument, filling their small home. Christine smiled, humming along as she set her book aside, turned on their little stove, and began breaking the eggs open into a clay pan. The sound of sizzling soon joined the melodious music flowing through the kitchen.

"It sounds beautiful, Father," Christine called to him.

"Doesn't it?" She could hear the pride in his voice, the pride it always held whenever he talked about his performing. "I've been practicing for a while. It needs to be perfect if I'm going to take it to festivals."

"Are any of those festivals coming up?"

The music cut off as Gustave put his violin down. "As a matter of fact," he told her, "there's one in a few days, two towns over. I was thinking of going and playing, seeing what I can scrape together fund-wise."

Finished with her father's three eggs, Christine placed them on a plate which she set in front of him. "Will you have to leave soon?" she asked him, almost sadly. Christine knew her father had to attend these festivals. Not only did he enjoy them immensely, but they were a large part of their income. When selling things from the farm didn't make enough, the money from his performances tended to make up the difference. Besides that, it made her happy that it made him happy. Still, she was always a bit sad to know that he was constantly leaving and that she was getting left behind.

"I need to be on my way by noon at the latest," he responded gently around another mouthful of egg.

Taking a deep breath, Christine finally decided to ask the question she had asked a hundred times before. A question she already knew the answer to, but would always ask anyway. "Will you take me with you?"

Gustave sighed, though he had to have been expecting this from her. "Would that I could, Angel, but someone has to stay here and watch the farm. The animals can't go that long without being cared for. You know that as well as I."

Tentatively, she began to suggest, "Couldn't we just hire...?"

"And pay them with what, love?" Gustave shook his head, a hint of irritation in his voice. Christine knew he wasn't truly annoyed with her, but he had gotten tired of this conversation after years of having it. "We need all of the money we can get, my angel, and hiring a field hand even for a few days would leave us with nothing for ourselves." He sighed again before speaking, his voice losing its hard edge. "You will be alright here on your own like you have been before." There was an air of finality about this statement.

Pushing aside her own disappointment, not wanting to bother her father with this any longer, Christine forced a smile and said, "I understand, Father. I'll be patient. I suppose there is plenty to do around the house, anyway... Cleaning, reading, the farm work... I could take a horse out riding or maybe practice my singing..."

She turned back to the stove and started on one more egg, this one for herself. Through a large mouthful of food, she heard Gustave question, "Are you going into town today?"

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Father!" she scolded playfully, a small smile on her face. "Such manners!" Her father laughed in response. There was a moment of comfortable silence, her question already put behind them and any frustrations buried. "I do think I will go into town today," she responded after a moment. Christine pushed the single egg from the pan onto a small plate and grabbed a fork for herself. She played with the egg a bit before softly adding, "I was thinking of heading to the Opera Populaire. They have another show coming up and I wanted to see what parts are being auditioned."

Gustave's head shot up and an excited light filled his face. "That is a marvelous idea, Christine!"

"Do you really think so?" she asked, taking a small bite. If there was a pastime Christine enjoyed more than reading, it was singing. In her mind, nothing could surpass singing the night away as her father played his violin. Christine's mother had started teaching her to sing before she had left, and Gustave had taken up the responsibility later on. Her love for the performing arts was in her blood, her father often joked, and it had blossomed over the years. She had been planning on going out for a position in an opera for quite some time now, but she had always been so unsure of her voice. Christine had gone to see a show at the Opera Populaire just once, but the performers she had seen that day made her feel inadequate.

Gustave came and stood before his daughter, putting his hands on her shoulders. "It is a marvelous idea," he repeated. He planted a kiss on her forehead. "And it's about time, too. I was starting to think our lessons were going to waste!"

Christine giggled and finished her egg, feeling warm courage flood through her at her father's words. "Do you have anything you need me to do for you while I'm in town?"

"Um...yes, actually. I borrowed a book from the de Chagny's the other day. Do you think you could drop by and return it for me?"

At the mention of the de Chagny's, Christine felt her face flush. An image of a tall, handsome many with shoulder-length, sandy brown hair and soft blue eyes filled her mind. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling and willed the image away. "Of course, Father." Her voice shook audibly.

She heard Gustave snicker. He knew about his daughter's infatuation with the de Chagny's second son, Raoul. He and Christine had grown up together and had been very close as children, ignoring all the rules of class differences the adults knew and followed so well. Now, as young adults, their friendship seemed to be blossoming into something more. Gustave highly encouraged this young, budding romance, hoping Christine could have a better and safer future than her poor childhood had offered. And even the senior de Chagny seemed alright with it despite her being much lower ranked in society than his son, as he saw how happy Christine made Raoul.

"I appreciate that, dear Angel," he told her sincerely.

Christine washed her plate, collected the book from her father, placed it in her wicker basket, and picked up the book she was reading herself. After giving Gustave one final hug, Christine exited the cottage through the front door. She turned towards the town and felt her heart race nervously as she looked instinctively up at the large castle looming high above the village. The stories of Prince Erik returned to her and she felt her blood run cold. Among the townsfolk, he had earned the nickname Cruel Prince Erik, though they never said it aloud. You never knew who was listening. She felt a chill race down her spine as she clutched her book to her chest. Not wanting to think on it any longer, she tore her eyes away from the castle upon its lonely hill and started towards the village.

Gustave and Christine lived on the far edge of the little town. They were the furthest out from the castle and their house served as the unofficial border of the village. Despite this seemingly great distance, it was really a short walk from the Daaé home to the de Chagny estate and from there, an even shorter walk to the Opera Populaire which stood at the edge of the forest that hugged the hill the prince's palace sat on. Christine closed the distance between her and the de Chagny home, reading her book along the way. She had to keep rereading passages, however, as she was so looking forward to seeing Raoul again and was constantly losing her place. It felt like it had been an eternity since she had last spoken to him.

The de Chagny's lived in the biggest house in the village; a three-story home with four bedrooms, three bathrooms, two parlors, one kitchen, and one dining room. It was an elegant home, and the nicest that could be found in the area excluding the prince's palace, but this made sense for the de Chagny's. When the prince became a recluse, it had been Raoul's father who took over management of village business and daily life, becoming the unofficially elected governor who watched over the town. Without him, the village would have dissolved into anarchy and completely destroyed itself. Everyone in the village owed the de Chagny's a great debt, and though they never made comment or asked for more than was required by law through taxes, it was slowly, ever so slowly, being repaid.

Christine stopped in front of their mahogany front door, closed her book, and took the silver knocker in her hand. She rapped three times, then stepped back, waiting to be admitted.

After only a few short moments, the door was pulled inwards and she was looking into the bright face of her childhood sweetheart, Raoul de Chagny. "Christine, good morning," he greeted her with a wide, warm smile.

"Good morning, Raoul," she responded gently, bowing her head respectfully. She slid her book into the basket.

He stood off to the side, welcoming her into the home. His brown hair was shining in the light of the early morning sunlight spilling through the open doorway. He wore a black suit jacket over a white shirt and his black slacks were freshly pressed. Raoul's light blue eyes sparkled with joy as he looked at her. "It's good to see you again, Mademoiselle. It's been quite a long while."

"And I am sorry about that," she responded with a sheepish smile. "But Father and I have been very busy." Christine stepped into the house, allowing him to close the door behind her. She found herself rambling, "He's been attending more festivals recently and is headed to another one very shortly. Someone has to stay home and watch the farm so..."

"You don't have to explain yourself, Christine. I understand." He reached out and placed one of his hands in hers.

Christine felt her face flush at Raoul's sudden drop in formalities and her heart fluttered at the feeling of his fingers entwining with hers. She bowed her head, suddenly shy, hoping to hide her redness from him. "I have your book, Monsieur," she told him softly. She took her hand from his to reach into her basket, making sure to grab the correct one.

Raoul laughed gently as he took it from her. "You don't have to be so embarrassed, Little Lottie."

She felt her face turn a deeper shade of scarlet as Raoul used his pet name for her. When they had been growing up, the pair had spent a lot of time listening to Gustave tell them of the brave Little Lottie and her adventures. Raoul had been so entranced with the young girl in the stories, he had taken to calling Christine by that name to demonstrate his affection for her. At first, it had been a cute, little thing but, as they grew older and their feelings for each other deepened, it became so much more.

Seeing that his comment had not helped her relax but instead made her feel more embarrassed, Raoul changed the subject. "What are your plans for the morning?"

"I was going to the Opera Populaire, actually. I was curious if they were holding auditions because..."

"You want to audition?!" he interrupted, his voice full of excitement. "Christine, that's wonderful! You have such a beautiful voice! They would be fools not to cast you, or deaf!"

"Thank you, Raoul," Christine responded, her blush fading at last. She found herself able to look up at him again. Though Raoul would never admit nor demonstrate it, Christine knew that he had quite a bit of singing talent as well. The compliment from him meant more than he knew.

"May I accompany you down to the opera house?" He held an arm out to her, and Christine smiled as she wound her arm through his.

"Lead on, Monsieur."

Together, the pair exited the house after Raoul called a hasty farewell to his father. As the two walked down the crowded streets, Christine felt her heart race at how close Raoul stood to her. He was talking about his family and the village, but she found that the words held practically no meaning to her. The sound of his melodic voice flowing through her ears and into her head... That was the only thing she was able to understand right then. The only bother was the feel of the eyes of the young women they passed, so jealous that the girl from nothing from the edge of the village had managed to catch the eye of the handsome young Raoul. Of course, they would never voice such things, especially in Raoul's presence. They were far too polite to come out and say anything like that. But Christine could feel the jealousy in their eyes and she had heard their whispers. She had grown used to this though, and had learned to ignore it. At least for the most part.

At this point, Christine was considering not going through with her audition plans. Instead, she could spend all morning with Raoul. They could go ride their horses through the meadows and have a picnic somewhere, far from the village with its prying eyes, far from their responsibilities and their crushing weights, far from the prince's looming castle that cast its dark shadow over everyone... It would be a perfect day. But before Christine had a chance to propose this new idea, though, she found Raoul and herself standing outside the Opera Populaire.

It was the only building in town made of pure white marble. The opera house had large, Greek-style pillars holding up the triangular overhang that branched off the roof. It was a grand and regal building that took Christine's breath away. Together, she and Raoul walked up the pure, white stairs. He dropped her arm for a moment to push and hold the door open for her. She thanked him with a small smile as she passed through, stopping just inside to wait for him to follow her. Raoul came and stood beside her, taking her arm once more.

The ceiling high above them, and the entire entry hall, was washed in a warm bronze glow from the torches lining the walls. A grand staircase wound its way up, branching off to the left and right after several stairs. Elegant carvings had been cut into pillars and the ceiling, and the whole room looked as Christine imagined a castle's entrance hall might. She gripped Raoul's arm tighter as she saw a man she recognized as the manager coming down the stairs, accompanied by a woman who must have been La Carlotta, the opera house's current Prima Donna. Christine had never met the woman, nor seen her in person, but there were enough advertisements for her around the village that La Carlotta was easily recognizable.

Monsieur Lefèvre had been the manager of the Opera Populaire for nearly twenty years, the longest any had held that position as far as Christine knew. He was a tall man, standing much higher than the woman striding next to him, and he looked quite young. Gustave had once told her that Monsieur Lefèvre was more than fifty years old, but now that Christine was looking at him, she began to think that may have been incorrect. His face was unlined, and he still had a full head of thick brown hair, though it did show very early signs of starting to gray. It was still bright and healthy, however. He had a neatly kept mustache and only the very tips were showing any signs of giving in to age.

La Carlotta stood next to him, reminding Christine of an abnormally large pink poodle. She was dressed in a fluffy pink gown, complete with a matching hat that rested on hair as orange as fire. The Prima Donna had a proud expression that rubbed Christine the wrong way, and a pinched face that looked as if she smelled something foul. She boasted a clear, bright complexion, perfect as a porcelain doll's.

The pair saw Christine and Raoul standing at the base of the stairs and Monsieur Lefèvre came to greet them. "Good morning, Monsieur de Chagny, and you as well, Mademoiselle! Welcome to the Opera Populaire! How may I be of assistance?" He gave a deep, flourishing bow.

"Hello, Monsiuer Lefèvre," Raoul greeted kindly. He was a frequent visitor to the Opera Populaire, Christine knew, and he seemed to be on good terms with the manager, if not La Carlotta who still stood on the stairs watching the three of them converse with her annoyed, pinched expression. "This is my friend, Christine Daaé."

" _Enchanté_ , Mademoiselle Daaé." Monsieur Lefèvre took her free hand in his and gave it a quick kiss in greeting.

At last, La Carlotta deigned to leave the stairs and stand before them. She had eyes only for Christine, glaring at her as if she was a speck of dust that had dared invade her freshly cleaned room. "I do not believe I have seen you at the Opera Populaire before, Mademoiselle Daaé," La Carlotta spoke at last. She had a high-pitched voice that sounded like grating metal or nails down a chalkboard and a thick accent that made it difficult to understand. It took all of Christine's strength not to shudder as the sound breached her eardrums.

"Um, yes," Christine responded with slight embarrassment. "I...I come from a poor family. We don't really have enough money to frequent such an establishment. My father and I have attended one show here and we wish we could afford to come again. We both love the arts, especially opera... Especially _this_ opera."

La Carlotta scoffed at her words. Christine didn't like this woman at all, and she hadn't even had a five-minute conversation with her yet. She was condescending and demeaning, two traits Christine detested in a person.

"Well, what can we do for you this morning?" Monsieur Lefèvre asked her with a large smile, ignoring La Carlotta's rudeness. He appeared used to it.

"I was...well, I was sort of hoping that you might be..." Christine stuttered, embarrassed. She was withering under La Carlotta's high-and-mighty gaze. _I can't do this..._ Christine realized. All she wanted to say was that she was here to look around, that she didn't need anything. But then, she felt Raoul give her arm an encouraging squeeze and she heard herself finish quickly, "I was hoping you might be holding auditions."

At this, La Carlotta laughed aloud. Monsieur Lefèvre didn't acknowledge her outburst. He was busy studying Christine intently. Raoul had noticed though, and he shot the Prima Donna a furious glance as Christine's courage waned once more. "I suppose..." Monsieur Lefèvre remarked. "You are quite pretty, which is always good for prospective actresses... But looks are not everything in theater, you understand. I would need to hear you sing before I made a decision... Perhaps I can find time to host a quick audition, as a favor to Monsieur de Chagny's personal friend..."

"And what would we audition her with?" La Carlotta asked, her voice full of proud annoyance, angry that her manager was even considering auditioning Christine.

"We need to keep casting for our next opera, Carlotta," Monsieur Lefèvre responded, keeping his voice even.

"No, she cannot..."

"I'm not asking for a leading role," Christine interrupted La Carlotta as quickly as she could. She had a feeling that if anyone could talk the manager out of auditioning her, it was his Prima Donna. "I don't need a large pay, or any pay for that matter. Just a part in the ensemble would be perfect. My mother and father trained me to sing, and I have known how to dance for quite a while. I am more than willing to demonstrate...if you find you have the time."

At this, Raoul interjected, "I can vouch for her singing, Monsieur. She has a very beautiful, well-coached voice."

Monsieur Lefèvre watched her closely, nodding as Raoul spoke. "We could use an extra voice in the ensemble... Yes, I think a vocal demonstration would do nicely. If we cast you, we can work on the dancing... But we can't hold an audition in the foyer! Perhaps, Mademoiselle, you would follow us into the auditorium? We could hold your audition now and have an answer to you as early as tomorrow."

"That would be perfect," Christine responded eagerly.

"Monsieur de Chagny, you would need to wait for her here. This needs to be a private affair if it is to remain as unbiased as possible."

Raoul nodded, taking his arm from hers. He whispered, "I'll be here waiting for you, Little Lottie. And don't worry. If anyone can do this, it's you."

Christine smiled in appreciation, took a deep breath, then followed the manager and La Carlotta up the stairs and down a back hallway. They led her through the halls and through a large set of double doors. The auditorium was empty except for a small, mousy man the top of whose head was balding terribly. A poofy layer of snow white hair peppered with gray covered the back of his head. He stood in the orchestra pit, reading over a piece of sheet music.

The auditorium was elegant, filled with hundreds of bright red seats. The proscenium stage was bordered by a large red curtain that shown brightly in the torchlight, embroidered with golden thread. Polished golden statues of nude men and women in sexual poses graced almost every pillar, making Christine blush if she looked at them for too long. Perhaps the most beautiful and eye-catching thing in the whole hall was hanging high above their heads. A stunning chandelier crafted of gold and embellished with chains of diamonds was glittering warmly in the firelight. Christine's breath caught as she looked up at it.

"It is astounding, isn't it?" Monsieur Lefèvre asked, following her gaze. "It was a gift from the prince before he...disappeared. One of the last things he granted us before the tragedy. It is the most amazing thing this opera house has to offer the people." La Carlotta, who had entered behind Christine, cleared her throat loudly. Monsieur Lefèvre rolled his eyes as he corrected himself. "The second most amazing thing this opera house has to offer. Madame la Carlotta is, of course, the first."

 _I'm sure she is..._ Christine thought, acknowledging his eye roll with a smile. "I am sure there is no one more talented than your Prima Donna."

"Flattery will win you no points with me, child," La Carlotta responded crossly.

Monsieur Lefèvre cleared his throat and called, "Monsieur Reyer!" The man in the pit jumped in response and quickly turned to face his manager. "Would you mind opening to the aria from act three and accompanying Mademoiselle Daaé for her audition?"

"Of course, Monsieur!" the man in the pit called back cheerfully.

"Just go stand on the stage. Monsieur Reyer will get you the sheet music and you will sing it to the best of your ability. I just need to hear the first verse, please," Monsieur Lefèvre instructed her.

Christine nodded and walked across the hall, up the stairs, and onto the stage. Monsieur Reyer had climbed out of the pit and stood on the stage, waiting for her. He handed her the music with a warm smile when she reached him. Christine felt herself sigh in relief and courage surge through her when she saw her audition piece. She recognized this song. It had been her mother's favorite piece from the opera Hannibal and she and her father had used it to teach Christine how to sing. It was one of the first songs she had memorized.

As she prepared herself, she heard La Carlotta's voice carry over from the audience, "I cannot believe you are auditioning this street rat!"

"Just because she comes from a poor family does not mean she's street rat, Señora. She seems like a very respectable and beautiful young woman," Monsieur Lefèvre told her, exasperation in his voice. "If you're worried about losing your part in the opera, don't. You are our Prima Donna. The lead will always go to you."

Christine did not allow this to phase her. It was simply another attempt to scare her off. She smiled inwardly. She would show this Carlotta what she was really made of. From behind her, sitting at the grand piano placed on stage, Monsieur Reyer called, "Whenever you are ready."

She turned to him and nodded, closing her eyes as he struck up the music. Turning to face her small audience, she counted the beats in her head, then opened her eyes and looked out into the empty auditorium. As the time for her to begin approached, Christine felt herself start to shake. Slight nerves she always got when she began to sing for an audience, made worse by the setting. Christine could feel the heat of the stage lights and the large, dark room was imposing. She could only pray that it wasn't noticeable to her two judges.

Taking a deep breath, fully filling her diaphragm the way her parents taught her, Christine began to sing. _**"Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said goodbye. Remember me, once in a while, please promise me you'll try. And when you find that once again you long to take your heart back and be free, if you ever find a moment, stop and think of me."**_

In her mind, she had done it flawlessly. She had hit every note correctly, every word was understandable, her vowels had been tall, she hadn't sounded breathy, and her strong core and breath support allowed her voice to carry all the way back to the auditorium, reverberating around the empty halls. Beyond that, she had barely allowed herself to glance at the music and had made sure to put every ounce of emotion into her face. Christine believed that she couldn't have performed it better.

The piano stopped, and Christine used the moment of quiet to take a deep, calming breath. She didn't like how long the manager and Prima Donna sat in silence, watching her. Christine made sure to keep a smile on her face. "After an audition," Gustave always told her, "you wait to be dismissed. And you smile until they dismiss you. Don't show them how nervous you are, or they won't want you."

After several painstaking moments, Monsieur Lefèvre called, "Thank you for auditioning for us, Mademoiselle. You may go. We will hopefully have your answer early tomorrow morning."

"Thank you." Christine curtsied to them, turned, and gave the sheet music back to Monsieur Reyer.

He smiled at her as he took it and whispered, "You did very well, miss."

Christine returned his smile and exited the auditorium. She found Raoul sitting on the steps in the entry hall. When he saw her, he climbed to his feet and offered her his arm once more. The two exited the opera house and walked back to Raoul's home. They were silent the whole way back, but once they were outside his door he finally asked, "How did it go?"

"I think it went well," Christine told him honestly. "I did better than I thought I was going to, and I don't think I could have done it any differently."

Raoul nodded, looking proudly at her. "Would you like to come in for a bit?" he offered.

Her heart screamed at her to say yes, to spend more time with him, but she could tell from how bright the sky was getting that it must be near noon. "I'm sorry, Raoul, but I can't. My father will be leaving for a festival soon, and I want to see him off."

He smiled at her and nodded. "I understand. Gustave is important to you." He gave her a quick peck on the check before opening his door. "Wish him luck for me."

"I will," Christine promised. He gave her one last smile before the door closed shut behind him. She put a hand to her cheek, the place where Raoul had kissed her seeming to buzz. With the memory of her audition whirling through her mind and the sweetness of his kiss lifting her spirits even higher, Christine turned and left the de Chagny estate. She walked back up the road to her small cottage.

By the time she returned, her father had packed up their small wagon and was finishing hitching Phillipe, his oldest and favorite horse. Gustave's violin was sitting in its case on the driver's seat and a small suitcase had been placed in the back of the wagon. Christine closed the distance between her and her father calling, "Let me help you!"

Gratefully, Gustave moved to the side and watched his daughter finish hitching Phillipe to the wagon. As she worked he questioned, "Did you audition?"

"Yes, I did. And it went very well. I think I shocked the manager and Prima Donna with how well I did."

"That wouldn't surprise me in the slightest." He smiled at his daughter. "Your mother would be so proud of you, you know. She was a singer herself, you remember. She is obviously the one you got your gift from."

"You're the one who taught me all I know! Mother started, true, but you did most of it." Christine stepped back with a grin. Phillipe was hitched and ready to be on his way.

"I suppose that's true..." Gustave studied her with adoration. "You look just like her, Christine. There are times when I look at you and can see her. She would be so, so proud of you..." he repeated. With a shake of his head, he climbed up into the driver's seat, moving his violin carefully into the back.

Christine watched him, slightly confused. She had no idea where this talk about her mother had come from. Gustave rarely spoke of her. Her mother had divorced her father ten years ago, but even after that she spent a lot of time with Christine at the cottage. She had let go of her husband, but could never forget her child. The visits had stopped seven years ago, one year before her death. An event her father had never told her about in detail as he knew how close Christine had been to her. All he had said was that she had died, and they would be hosting her funeral.

Still, Christine had very fond memories of her mother and chose to focus on those instead of how everything ended. Stories by the fire, practicing vocals at the piano... It was unfortunate the way her parent's marriage had finished. Gustave told Christine that they had married too young and weren't ready for what a child would bring. They both loved her dearly, but it was more than they had been prepared for.

Christine still remembered the last time her mother had visited. There had been a horrible, horrible fight between Gustave and his ex-wife that Christine had overheard. She could no longer remember the words, but she remembered the raised voices. Despite all of this, Christine knew that Gustave had never stopped loving his wife and he missed her more than anything every passing day.

He smiled down at his daughter. "Be good while I'm away."

"I always am, Father. Have safe travels... And Raoul wishes you luck at the festival."

"That is awfully kind of him," Gustave chuckled. With one last smile at Christine, her father whipped the reins and set Philippe into motion. The old wagon creaked in protestation, but it eventually moved at a quick, steady pace. Christine stood in front of their house, watching until her father was out of sight. Then, she turned back and headed into the cottage.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my last of mostly fully-prepared chapters. After this, it will most likely take me a while to update again as I go through and do full rewrites of the rest I have prepared instead of a simple read-through and edit. This is also where things start picking up a bit more. I hope you enjoy!

It was late. Much _too_ late, in fact. By Gustave's calculations, he should have reached the next village over by now. He should have reached it hours ago, if his maps were accurate, which, he knew, they were. So why wasn't he there yet?

Gustave had pushed poor Phillipe as hard as he dared, wanting to reach the neighboring town as quickly as possible. After all, it was better to arrive early at a festival than to arrive late and miss all of the traffic. Now, as he looked around, he realized that he may have pushed the old boy too quickly. He had been to this town a few times before and had memorized specific landmarks just in case his maps led him astray. But now, as he sat up on the driver's seat, looking around, Gustave realized that he could find none of his familiar markers.

Silently cursing himself, Gustave reached into the back of the wagon and pulled his maps up to rest on his lap. He took a hanging lantern from its hook on the front of the wagon and held it close to the parchment, trying to see where he had gone wrong. Somewhere along the line thanks to the pace he had set, Gustave had taken a wrong turn and now, as a result, he was horribly lost.

As he sat studying the piece of parchment, he let Phillipe continue onward. The trees on either side of him began to thicken, and soon the little grove they had been travelling through became a large forest. What little moonlight there had been before was now being blocked out by the trees pressing in on either side of him. Gustave squinted at the map, but he knew there was no use in attempting to read it. It was far too dark, and the details were far too small, even with the lantern. Shaking his head in frustration, he slammed the lantern back on its hook and threw the maps into the back of the wagon.

Perhaps it would be best if he turned around. At this rate, it would be too dark to see where he was going. Though he could still make out parts of the trail now, if he kept going, Phillipe could turn a leg or a wheel could be knocked loose by an over-jarring of the rocky road beneath him. If he did turn back, Gustave might be able to find an inn...but if he did that, he would never reach the festival in time. He and Christine needed what money he could get from his performing there...

The pros and cons of turning around played through his mind when, suddenly, there came a howling of wolves off in the trees. Gustave whipped around, facing the direction the sound had come from, eyes wide with fright. It was a better idea for him to turn back, he realized. There were predators hiding in this dense forest... And there might be worse things among the trees as well...

 _That's it!_ He had scared himself into it and was now flicking Phillipe's reins, slowly repositioning the wagon for a turn. Before he could get Phillipe facing the other direction, he heard a loud laugh come from his right. Someone was out there, watching him, and Gustave could tell from the chill running down his spine that they weren't friendly. "Hello?" he called out loudly. "Who's there?" Only the breeze in the trees above him answered. "I'm warning you, I'm armed!"

"Ooh, he's armed!" came a mocking response.

"Oh no, we better run while we still can!" another equally mocking voice squeaked in laughter.

"Come on, boys!" called a third voice, carrying the same derisive tone. "He's an old man. I think the three of us can take 'em, even if he is armed." This third voice managed to be full of both contempt and authority at the same time. Whoever this speaker was, it was evident that he was in charge.

From out of the trees came the owners of the tree voices, all dressed in rags. Their hair was filthy and unkempt, falling well past their shoulders, and their eyes were glinting maliciously up at Gustave in his wagon. They were all carrying daggers and one of the men had a crude bow strung with an arrow knocked. The blades may have been short and the bow simple, but Gustave could tell that each weapon was sharp enough to be deadly and their wielders had more than enough practice to do lasting harm.

"Who are you men?" he barked, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

"Wouldn't you like to know," the leader of the bandits responded, an evil grin crossing his face. He crossed to Gustave and wrenched Phillipe's reins from his hands. "I'm more curious about who you are, and about what kind of good you're hiding in your wagon."

"Yeah, I was wondering that!" the second bandit, the one with the bow, piped up.

"'Here's what's going happen, old man," the first bandit went on, ignoring the interruption. "You are gonna get off of there, and we're gonna take a look-see at what you've got in your bags."

"I will be doing no such thing!" Gustave crossed his arms, staring angrily down at the man beneath him.

The bandit gave a small laugh, hanging his head. "See, now, I wasn't asking you to get off." He reached up and gripped Gustave's arm in fingers like iron. "I was _telling_ you." The bandit wrenched Gustave down from the wagon. He fell to the rocky trail, landing roughly on his side. "Alrighty boys, search it!"

With this order, the two other men moved in, climbing into the back. Phillipe shifted, whinnying nervously. The short one threw open Gustave's suitcase and started rummaging through his clothes while the other unhooked his violin case, throwing the top open. "Will you look at this beauty!" he called, wrenching the instrument from its case and holding it up for all to see.

"Now that is quite pretty," the leader remarked. He kicked Gustave onto his stomach then stood over him, his boot resting squarely between his shoulders. "How much do ya think it's worth?"

"No, please!" Gustave cried in spite of himself. "I need that! My family will starve without it!" A picture of Christine's face swam before him, filling his vision. If he lost that violin, he lost the largest source of income they had. He would never be able to afford to replace it with the money made off the farm, and those small figures on their own would never support a family of two. What would become of his dear Christine if he could no longer make the money they needed?

"Aw, will your wittle family stawve?" the man laughed, his voice somehow more mocking than before. "Do you think anyone cared when my family starved? Do you think anyone cared that the only thing keeping them alive was my thieving? No! No one cared then, so I don't care now!" He turned his attention back to his bandits. "Take it! We'll get a pretty penny for it."

Gustave's heart leapt into his throat as the bandit put the violin down. Meanwhile, the other with the bow had finished digging through his bag. "I only found a handful of francs. Nothing else of any real value."

"Alright, guess that'll do. Between that, the money for the instrument, and what we can get for the animal... Pretty good work. Unhook the horse."

T _hey're going to unhook him!_ Gustave thought. _This is my chance!_

The horse that Gustave had brought with him was a horse that he himself had raised from a colt. The poor thing had started so weak. He had been the shortest, skinniest, and most useless looking of the group that had been born that season. Everyone was sure he was going to die. But Gustave had taken care of him and Phillipe had become one of the strongest horses on the farm. Phillipe was also quite fond of Gustave, and had grown very protective, something he could use to his advantage. He watched, his heart pounding, as the two men worked together to unhook Phillipe from the wagon.

Once the animal was free of its burden, Gustave, with some difficulty, brought his hand to his lips and blew a loud, piercing whistle. At his signal, Phillipe reared up on his hind legs, bringing his front hooves down on the nearest bandit. He snorted in fury and threw his hind legs behind him, slamming them into the second bandit's chest.

All of this happened before the bandit standing on Gustave could even blink. By the time "What the?" had passed his lips, the horse and raced into him, slamming him to the ground. Once he was free, Gustave jumped to his feet, threw his arms around Phillipe's neck, and yelled, "Yah!" The house gave a loud whinny and reared again, Gustave clinging onto his neck for dear life. As Phillipe galloped away, Gustave heard a loud whistle followed by a sickening thud and a sharp pain in his right arm. He cried out, but somehow managed to maintain his grip on Phillipe. A matter of moments later, a second arrow landed just shy of Phillipe's left side.

Soon, all that could be heard from the bandits was frustrated shouting and the whistle of missed shots. Not too long later, these sounds disappeared. Once Gustave was sure the men weren't chasing them, he slowed Phillipe to a canter and forced himself onto his back, panting. He petted the horse's main whispering, "Good boy, good boy..." gingerly reaching a hand up, feeling the shaft of the arrow that had pierced his shoulder.

Too afraid to turn back, Gustave rode deeper into the forest, remaining dead silent, trying to stop the tears of pain threatening to fall and catching his breath. This second thing was harder to do than Gustave would have liked.

He hadn't told Christine – he hadn't told anyone – but for the last few months, he had had moments where breathing was difficult, where he couldn't catch his breath at all. And only a matter of weeks ago, a nasty cough had turned up that he hadn't been able to shake. He had done everything he could to hide his worsening illness from Christine, and thus far, he had done a wonderful job of it. Gustave knew that if she learned that something was wrong, she would put everything on hold to take care of him. Her life would halt entirely and every opportunity she was being afforded would be lost to her. She had her own future to works towards, her own dreams. He would never forgive himself if she gave up everything because he had gotten ill. Gustave wanted nothing but the best for his Angel, after all.

Now, though, this strange illness was overwhelming, and Gustave found that the injury in his shoulder on top of all of the excitement had made it impossible to catch his breath. He needed help, and he needed it fast.

As if in answer to his prayers, a large iron gate appeared before him. A large, cursive D was smelted into the metal of the gate, but Gustave hardly registered it. All he knew was that where there was a gate, there would eventually be a house. And where there was a house, there would be help. Gustave slid off his horse and pushed the gate open, relieved to find that it was completely unlocked. He pushed it closed behind him, leaving Phillipe where he was, and walked, gasping for breath, up the long drive.

He soon found himself standing before a large, wooden door built into a castle made of black brick. Gustave pounded on it and waited, praying that someone would answer. Just when he began to think that no one was coming and he was going to die in this strange place, the door was pushed gingerly open. A blonde girl of an age with Christine wearing a blood red dress and green apron stood before him, curiosity in her hazel eyes.

"Please...Mademoiselle...I need...help," Gustave begged as he struggled to breathe properly.

The girl's eyes widened as she listened to him and took in his injury. She stepped over the threshold and took his left arm in her hands. "Come in, Monsieur, and tell me everything."

She led him through the castle doors which closed behind them. They were standing in an entry hall so large, Gustave wasn't able to see the ceiling above them. The walls were lined with torches whose flames flickered weakly, barely dispelling the darkness. Between these torches were paintings, some of people, others of famous scenes from the land's history.

The stone floor was covered in a black carpet made of fine wool. A large stairwell stood before them, two staircases branching off of it disappearing into the upper levels of the castle. Hanging on the wall of the landing where the stairs branched off was another picture. This one was larger than the rest, depicting a young man in a black suit with dirty blonde hair and bright green eyes. He wore a golden crown on his head and his hands were clasped in front of him. The man was smiling down at Gustave and the young woman. There was a large slash through the canvas, slicing the painting almost in half. It looked as if someone had taken a sword to it in a fit of rage. The destroyed painting sent a shiver through Gustave, but his current troubles overwhelmed his concern.

As Gustave allowed himself to be led deeper into the castle, he told who he assumed was a serving girl everything that had happened. She took him down a hallway that ran parallel to the master stairwell, listening intently. The servant brought him into a large parlor. There was only one chair in the room, high-backed and covered in black fabric. He could see the edge of a small table set in front of the chair. Beyond that was a large fireplace, a warm fire crackling within it – something Gustave was grateful for. He hadn't realized how cold he had been until just this moment. The servant girl sat him down in the high-backed chair, kneeling beside him and studying the arrow.

When Gustave finished his story, the young girl shook her head. "We've told him about those bandits, but he won't listen... I'm no expert, but I'm sure I can remove this arrow and get your arm patched up."

As the girl stood, a sharp voice called from the doorway. "Meg Giry! What in the name of God do you think you are doing?!"

A second woman, dressed in the same red-and-green outfit was the girl, came to stand beside her. She was elderly, and had a deeply lined, strict face. Her graying light brown was pulled back into a thin braid that fell well past her waist. Her brown, hawk-like eyes rested first on Meg, then on Gustave.

"I'm sorry, Mother," Meg told the woman quickly, bowing her head. "But I couldn't just leave him out there! He can hardly breathe, and those creatures in the forest put an arrow through him!"

"That does not concern us!" the woman hissed. She sounded more concerned than angry. "Do you know what will happen if the master finds him here? Sitting in his chair, no less! Do you understand how much trouble you will be in? How much trouble he will be in?" The elderly servant gestured to Gustave.

"Please, Madame... I do not...wish to be...a burden..." Gustave began.

The woman's hard gaze found his. "You have no idea what you've done, coming here. You must leave immediately, before the master arrives and finds you. I am sorry, Monsieur, but you will find no kindness nor help here." Despite her cold words, Gustave could hear genuine sympathy in her voice.

"Madame, I do not think...I can...survive...out in the...forest."

"You definitely won't survive in this castle! Do you know where you are? Whose castle you are in?" her voice grew quieter, but the concern...no, the fear, was still there. She knelt down beside him and roughly broke the shaft of the arrow in his shoulder. The servant pulled it free, making Gustave cry out. "That is all I can do for you, but you have to go now! He'll be here any minute!"

Gustave panted, pressing his hand against the freshly bleeding wound. He knew that wherever he was, he had made a grave mistake coming inside this palace. At that moment, he was beginning to think his odds in the forest may be better than in this castle with whomever this "master" was.

The blonde girl, Meg, gave a small gasp. While they had been speaking, the door had opened. What little light there was in the hallway entered the room. A quite voice floated from the doorway, as cold as ice and soft as silk. "I hear we have a guest."

Without a moment's hesitation, Meg dropped to the floor, hands above her head which she pressed to the ground. The older woman nearly bowed her head, eyes narrowed. Footsteps on the wooden floor echoed loudly in the dead silent room, coming closer to the chair where Gustave sat. He felt his heart race and blood run cold as the footsteps stopped just behind the chair.

"Forgive me, my prince, it was my fault." Meg's voice came out tight, pinched, and full of tears. She was obviously terrified of the man standing above her. "I didn't have the heart to turn him away, master. He is sick and had been shot by the bandits in the forest..."

"Silence." The voice did not lose its soft tone, but the command in it was obvious. Meg gave a whimper, but stopped speaking. "Antoinette, I suggest you take your daughter and return to your quarters. It would be best if you remind her the rules of the palace."

"What of...?" Antoinette began.

"I will great our guest personally. As a good host should." Meg climbed to her feet and clutched her mother's arm. They each cast Gustave one last apologetic look before disappearing through the same door their master had entered through. And with them, Gustave somehow knew, went whatever mercy he would have been shown.

"Are you enjoying my chair, Monsieur?" the voice hissed right behind him.

Gustave climbed stiffly to his feet, fearing whatever fate was awaiting him. "I am sorry...Monsieur... If I had...known how little...you cared for visitors...I would not have...stopped here..."

"Yet as it is," the voice interrupted, "you did stop here. And I care very, very little for trespassers. Sick and injured or no."

It did not escape Gustave's notice that the man had not called him a visitor. And by the man's tone, Gustave knew he was being threatened. The footsteps came around the chair and Gustave, suddenly afraid of meeting the eyes of the master of the castle he found himself in, lowered his gaze, studying the floor. A pair of shiny black shoes and a bit of black dress slacks were all he could see. That, and the bottom of a cape. Gustave swallowed loudly in fear.

"I beg your...pardons, Monsieur..." His voice came out a strained whisper. "If I...trouble you so...I will depart...and not return."

"You beg my forgiveness and yet, you refuse to look upon me. That is quite rude of you." A gloved hand reached forward and grabbed Gustave's chin. His head was wrenched up, and Gustave was greeted with a horrifying sight.

The man before him was dressed in a black suit, wearing a floor length cape. Except for the underside, which was made of white silk, the cape was completely black. He wore a black wig that shone artificially in the torchlight. His skin was pale and his eyes were a deep, emerald green. The one thing that drew Gustave's attention more than anything else, the one thing that confirmed beyond all doubt who this man was, was the piece that rested on his face. A stark white mask that covered the right half of his face, from forehead to chin. Gustave's mouth fell open as the identity of the man standing before him sank in.

"Prince Erik..." he whispered, fear flooding his voice and causing him to shake. The prince smiled crookedly at him and dropped his hand from Gustave's chin. Released, Gustave dropped into the same bow that Meg had taken earlier, ignoring the pain that flooded through his arm. A bow of submission, he now realized. "Please, my prince...forgive me...I did not...mean to trespass..." Gustave was finding it harder to breathe than before.

"Now you are truly sorry. But only because you know who I am and what I am capable of." Prince Erik grabbed Gustave by the back of his neck and yanked him into a sitting position. Gustave whimpered in pain. "I made my warnings to you people many years before. You have chosen to ignore that warning. Your apology is not accepted."

Prince Erik jerked Gustave to his feet, then pulled his arms behind his back. Gustave cried out as his right shoulder was wrenched. Grabbing a rope had had at his belt, the prince bound Gustave's hands so tightly, he felt his fingers began to go numb. The prince grabbed Gustave's right arm, causing him to scream again, and wrenched him from the room, down the hall, and up the stairs. He tugged Gustave up three floors and into a narrow tower occupied by a spiral staircase. Prince Erik dragged him up the stairs and into the very top of the tower, a room filled with cells. He wrenched open a door to a cell in the back and shoved Gustave to the ground inside it, closing and locking the bar behind him.

"Please...Prince Erik!" Gustave cried out in desperation, his breath coming in shorter bursts. "Please, don't...leave me...here! My daughter...needs me! She'll starve...without me! Please!"

Gustave's cries for mercy fell on deaf ears as the prince turned and walked away from the cell. "Now think on what you have done," was the only thing the masked monarch told him before exiting the room, slamming the door shut behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kudos and the bookmarks! I'm glad you're all interested in the story and are finding some entertainment from it. Sorry it took a bit for this chapter. Uni's been keeping me busy. I hope you all enjoy!

Her father has been away for two days when Christine learned that something had gone horribly, horribly wrong. On that second morning, she had started by tending to the horses, and her day had drastically improved from there. Monsieur Lefèvre has come by himself to tell her good news. Wearing a large smile, he said, “Congratulations, Mademoiselle. You have been cast in the ensemble of _Hannibal_.” Under normal circumstances, Monsieur Lefèvre informed her, he would not have come personally and would have instead called her to the Opera Populaire but given the extraordinary circumstances of her audition and her relationship with Raoul, he had wanted to go that extra mile for her. It was only a few moments after Monsieur Lefèvre had returned to the opera house that Raoul arrived, carrying with him a bouquet of red roses, Christine’s favorite flower.

“Good morning, Little Lottie,” he called to her from the back gate.

She grinned when she saw him, racing to meet him. “I’ve been cast in _Hannibal_ , Raoul! They liked my audition!”

“Of course they did!” Raoul exclaimed as he gave her a bear hug, lifting her off the ground and spinning her in large circles. They both laughed as Raoul let himself fall to the grass, Christine landing on top of him. She smiled down at him, and he up at her. Deciding that the farm chores could wait, Christine led Raoul into the kitchen where he sat at their table.

The two talked the morning away. Raoul told her that his parents believed he was more than ready to be wed and expected him to have chosen a woman and moved out by the end of next year at the latest. Christine asked if he had anyone specific in mind, and he told her that there was one girl he had known for quite a long time that he had had his eye on. She responded that, whoever this girl was, she would be very pleased by his offer. They grinned knowingly at each other, and the conversation went no further.

 _Not yet,_ Christine thought, _but soon._ She could barely contain her excitement.

As the morning wore on and the day warmed, Raoul informed her that he was needed back at home. Christine saw him out through the front door, wishing he could stay for just a while longer. “I hope to see you again soon, Little Lottie.” He mounted his horse. “We shouldn’t wait a week between meetings like we have.”

“I have the same hope, Raoul. You will have to visit when Father returns.”

“When is he due back? I’ll come to dinner that night.”

“He should be home in just a few days. I’ll come get you once he’s settled back in.”

With their final goodbyes said, Raoul turned to leave. Before he had a chance to canter away, a horse with new rider appeared on the horizon. “That’s odd,” Raoul muttered, squinting to see it better.

As the horse drew closer, the color drained from Christine’s face. “That’s my father’s horse!” she cried.

“What?!” Raoul hopped down from his mount, concern crossing his features.

Even before Raoul’s feet had hit the ground, Christine was running towards the horse as he galloped up to the little cottage. She met him halfway and reached her hands out. “Woah, Phillipe, woah!” The horse whinnied in irritation, annoyed that Christine had stopped his progress home. She ran her hands through Phillipe’s tangled mane. “Where’s Father?”

Raoul at last came up behind her. “Is everything alright?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” Christine felt her throat tighten. “This is Father’s horse, but he isn’t here. And the wagon’s gone, too…” She turned to face Raoul with horror in her eyes. “I think something’s happened to my father!”

“Slow down, Christine,” Raoul told her, placing his hands on her shoulders. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation. Before we start jumping to conclusions, why don’t I go get my father and some men? We’ll go see if we can find any sign of Gustave and we’ll work from there.” Christine nodded in response, her voice choked off. “We’ll find him, Little Lottie, I promise, but I need you to stay here. Don’t go anywhere while I’m gone.” Raoul raced back to his horse, barely slowing as he threw himself onto the animal’s back. As he galloped off to find help he called, “Wait for me, Little Lottie!”

As he disappeared on the horizon, Christine placed a hand on Phillipe’s neck and lead him back to the barn. A hand of fear, icy cold and iron-fingered, had gripped her heart. Something terrible had happened to her father, she just knew it! As she ran her fingers through the horse’s mane, thinking of all that might have happened, she felt something papery that had gotten knotted into Phillipe’s hair. She pulled the object out and saw it was a blackened leaf. Not dead, just black. Black leaves… Her mouth went dry.

The trees that grew these leaves seemed to defy all laws of nature, growing in only one color and maintaining that one color throughout the seasons. Trees that grew them were very rare and only grew in one place close to the village. She turned and looked up at Prince Erik’s looming castle. Her stomach dropped. Gustave had been in the forests at the base of the castle. For whatever reason, he had ended up in the single most dangerous place he could have. Christine rounded to the horizon, searching for any sign of Raoul, but he was nowhere to be seen. She didn’t have time to wait for him to come back, she realized. And neither did her father.

Without further hesitation, Christine pulled herself onto Phillipe’s back and whispered, “Take me to Father.”

The horse seemed to understand. Phillipe whipped around and took off down the road, racing towards the forest under the castle of the Cruel Prince Erik. The ride took several hours, but she still made the journey in less time than it would have with the wagon, she knew. If her father was nearby, she might be able to find him quickly.

Deep within the blackened forest, it seemed as if night had permanently fallen. None of the sunshine she had left behind her penetrated the thick canopy of leaves.

It was a fearful but determined Christine that was stopped in front of her father’s wagon.

The little wagon had been turned on its side and considering on the terrain, Christine assumed it had been pushed over, not that it had simply tipped due to uneven footing. Her father’s suitcase lay open nearby, his clothes tossed about and most of them torn. Lying beside the wagon was his violin, its bridge snapped, and strings broken from being stepped on. Hand over her mouth, tears filled Christine’s vision.

 _There’s no blood, Christine,_ a voice within her whispered, _and no bodies._ A small ray of hope glimmered in her chest. Whatever ordeal had befallen her father, it was likely he had survived.

Her suspicion was confirmed when Phillipe, still acting on her orders to be brought to her father, started deeper in. They rode a short while longer before coming to a large, iron gate wrought to look like ivy. From the large cursive D, Christine knew she had arrived at the prince’s property. “Through here, Phillipe?” she whispered. The horse whinnied his response, pawing at the ground nervously with his front hoof.

Christine slid gently from Phillipe’s back and pushed against the gate. It swung open, admitting her to royal land. She returned to Phillipe and mounted once more and, shortly after passing through the gate, she found herself outside the doors to the castle. Her heart in her throat, she jumped to the ground and took Phillipe’s head in her hands. “Wait for us, boy,” she told the obedient animal. He gave a nervous snort. Christine approached the door and, without knocking, pushed it in.

She was admitted into a large entry hall with walls covered in paintings and a floor hidden by carpeting. A stairwell leading up to the higher floors that resembled the grand stairs at the Opera Populaire greeted her, and a picture of a handsome young man smiled down at her. Christine closed the large door behind her and started towards the stairwell, climbing up the rightmost set of stairs. She hadn’t realized that she was being watched.

*

Antoinette Giry had seen the door open and was about to hurry out this second unwanted guest before the master saw her. But the moment she had laid eyes on this young girl, she found herself transfixed, brought back to a time only six years ago when the prince had met his true love. The brunette angel who had won his heart and utterly shattered it in less than a singly day. This girl who had come…she had the same brunette hair, the same brown eyes, the same air about her. Whoever she may have been, she appeared to be an exact copy of the one from before. Instead of sending her away like she knew she should have, Antoinette decided to follow her and learn what her business at the castle was.

The girl headed up the staircase and continued climbing up. She seemed to know exactly where she was going, though how she was so sure Antoinette didn’t know. Once she reached the third floor, the girl found her way to the spiral staircase that led to the tower dungeon. Antoinette realized that there was only thing that the girl could possibly be here for.

*

When Christine found the door, she knew it was the right one. She had only been following her instincts, trusting in the stories she knew to be true and the rumors she had once heard. Slowly, she entered the room. From inside, she heard a voice muttering. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Christine immediately recognized the voice of Gustave. “Father!” she cried in relief, rushing to the cell where she had heard his voice.

With great difficulty, Gustave pushed himself up when he heard her voice. “Christine? Is that…you?”

“I’m here, Father,” she responded tearfully, reaching through the bars in the door to take her father’s hand. It was then that she realized he wasn’t able to return the gesture. His hands were bound behind his back. Fear and anger surged through her. “I’m going to get you out,” she told him firmly, bringing her arm back through the bars.

“No, Christine, you…need to leave! Now, before…he finds…you! He’s…evil, Christine! If he…sees you here…he’ll lock you…away…too!”

Her heart skipped a beat as she listened to him struggling to breathe. He was sick, Christine knew. Just how sick she wasn’t sure, and with a jolt she realized she didn’t know for how long he had been suffering. If he stayed her in this cold, damp, dark dungeon, he would surely die. Filled with resolve Christine affirmed, “I am not leaving you here, Father!”

She got to her feet and scanned the black room, hoping to find a key but it was far, far too dark. If she wanted any hope of locating what she needed, she would need light. It wasn’t much brighter in the hallway, but even that bit of light might be just enough to find the key. Christine crossed the room and pulled the door open.

A piercing scream escaped her when she saw the figure standing in the doorway. Falling to the ground, she pushed herself away from the door, pressing against the cell her father was being held in. “Two guests in as many days? How interesting.” The voice was melodic, almost as if he was singing, not speaking. It would have been calming if the ice in it hadn’t been so tangible. The man in the door entered the room, kicking it shut behind him.

“Who…who do you think you are? Looking away an innocent man like this?” she demanded, trying to sound braver than she felt. Yet even she could hear the quiver in her voice.

“Who do I think _I_ am? Who do you think _you_ are, sneaking into my castle, into my tower, trying to break free my prisoner? Is this any way to treat your prince?”

“It is if he’s an a…”

“Christine, no!” her father begged. “Don’t…anger him…further.”

Prince Erik stalked closer. “Your father is right, girl. You should be careful. If I was in my right mind, I would throw you in this cell alongside him. But I’m feeling unusually generous today. You have yet to truly anger me, so I will give you one chance to leave. If you do not take it, you will spend the rest of your life here.” His eyes glinted like stars in the darkness, cold and distant and angry.

She met those eyes evenly. “I will only leave if my father leaves with me.”

The prince sighed. “You are a fool, then.” He closed the distance between them and gripped her arm painfully in a large, gloved hand. She could see him clearly now. He was dressed all in black, save for the white lining of his cape and the haunting white mask that covered the right side of his face. His eyes, burning with green fire, fell on her brown ones. The moment their gazes locked, his hand fell away. He took a small step backwards and his face contorting into a terrifying mixture of confusion, anguish, and fear. “It...it can’t be…”

Christine cowered against the cell, unable to tear her gaze away from the prince’s mask. Those stories were true, then. She had always wondered. Her arm throbbed where he had grabbed her. Close behind, her father pressed against the bars of the cell, getting as close as he could.

All the hostility had melted from Prince Erik. He looked more lost and hurt in that moment than he did evil and cruel. The prince closed his eyes and took a deep breath, composing himself. When they opened again, he glared down at Christine. “I will give you one last choice, girl. Either your father remains, and you leave, never to return. Or, I set your father free and you take his place. If you pick this option, I will release your father, but you will never be permitted to leave this palace again.”

Her heart beat faster and stronger as she looked at her father in his cell. He was pale and, if possible, his breathing was getting even worse. Even as she watched him, he began to cough in a chest-rattling burst. It only reaffirmed to her that if she left him here, it would only be a matter of time before he died. She couldn’t leave him to that fate. He meant too much to her.

Christine’s determination must have shown in her face. “No, angel!” her father cried. “You can’t…do this.”

“I have to, Father,” she whispered, feeling tears of sadness and fear well up in her eyes. “It’s the only way…”

“Christine, I am an…old man… I’ve lived…my life… But you…you are still…young and full…of energy! You have your…future to think of! You can’t give all…of that up…just for my sake!”

“Yes, I do.”

“Christine!” her father screamed.

Slowly, she turned to face the prince who stood over her, his arms crossed impatiently as he waited. “Release him.” Was all she said.

Prince Erik nodded and shoved her out of the way. He unlocked the cell door with a key he had pulled from a ring at his belt and yanked Gustave from it. “Your time has been served.” The prince gave a crooked smile before dragging him from the room.

“No, wait!” he pleaded. “You have to let…me see her! She’s my…daughter! Let me say…goodbye, you monster!”

“Please!” Christine climbed to her feet, trying to reach the prince as he made of the door.

Her father’s pained gaze met hers for the last time as he shouted, “Christine, I lo-”

The door slammed shut, and all that Christine could hear now was he father’s shouted protests as Prince Erik dragged him down the stairs. She slid back to her knees, burying her face in her hands. Tears filled her eyes as she fully realized what she had done. She thought of her part in _Hannibal_. She thought of what Monsieur Lefèvre would think when she didn’t show up to that first rehearsal. She thought of what La Carlotta would say… And she thought of Raoul. Sweet, sweet, Raoul.

Her dreams of their fairytale wedding turned to ash before her. She had signed away her life to the Cruel Prince Erik. Christine had given up any chance she had had for happiness or love. Never again would Christine see her Raoul. Never again would she sit and talk with him. Never again would they walk arm-in-arm through the town. Never again would she hear him call her Little Lottie. Her time with Raoul had ended before it had ever really begun.

Christine clapped her hands to her mouth as tears rolled down her cheeks. She rocked back and forth, softly crying, wondering how things might have been different if she had just waited for him like he had asked. “Raoul…” she whimpered. “Oh, Lord… Raoul…” She could almost just imagine his confusion and fear when he returned to the cottage and found her missing. How would he react? Would he even have a clue of where to start looking? “I’m so sorry, Raoul!” she wailed as she started gasping for breath, crying harder and harder.

As she lay sobbing, the door opened again. Someone came to stand over her, and Christine knew it was the prince. He knelt down and grabbed her arm, much gentler than he had before and helped her to her feet. “I’ll show you to your quarters,” he told her simply. Whether out of courtesy or cruelty, Prince Erik ignored the way she sniffled, trying to catch her breath.

She had imagined that the prince was going to push her into a cell, but instead, he walked to the doorway. He stood off to the side, waiting for her to exit ahead of him. “You could have let us say goodbye,” she whispered, not moving.

The prince sighed in frustration. “I let him go, I let him live. He is on his way to the village and will be back home by morning. That’s more than anyone has ever gotten from me and should be more than enough for you. Now, are you coming, or would you rather stay in the cells forever?”

“He is my father, and I’ll never see him again. You didn’t even let us say goodbye…” Christine hissed. “Everyone in the village is right about you. You are nothing more than a cruel monster.”

A flash of fury passed the prince’s expression, but it quickly subsided. “I don’t think it should matter to you what the people say about me. They are no longer any concern of yours. This is your last chance to follow me.” Christine looked tearfully around the gloomy tower dungeon, then back at Prince Erik. His arms were crossed again, impatient as he waited for her to make up her mind. She took one final look at the cell her father and occupied, then decided if the prince was offering her better quarters, she would be a fool to turn them down. Bowing her head, Christine allowed Prince Erik to lead her from the room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finally remember which characters Andre and Firmin were meant to be.
> 
> Cogsworth: Andre  
> Lumiere: Firmin 
> 
> It helps that I finally got to their characters in this chapter. Anyways... I hope you like this chapter as much as I do. This is probably one of my favorites. Thanks for all the support thus far!

Christine followed the prince down the spiral staircase, letting him lead her down two levels. On the second floor, he brought her down a long hallway filled with grand paintings and more black carpeting. Prince Erik stopped at the end of the hall in front of large, double doors made of black wood. Christine assumed it was from the trees in the forest. He pushed the doors open and let Christine enter the room first. All things considered, it was much nicer than she had been expecting.

The walls were painted a deep purple and though still dark, it was a nice break from all the black coloring the rest of the castle seemed to have. The carpeting was the same, however, and Christine wondered if that was the only floor throughout the entire palace. A large canopy bed was sitting against the back wall, covered in blood red silk blankets and a huge wardrobe painted chocolate brown was placed beside it. There was a nightstand on the other side of the bed the same color as the wardrobe. Across the room was a huge writing desk set in front of a large window that faced out to the dark forest.

She glanced around the room, her face sullen and distraught. It was nicer than the cells in the tower, sure, but no matter how he dressed it up, no matter what color he painted it, it was a prison all the same. She would never be allowed to leave, never permitted to return home. And if she ever tried to escape… Christine shuddered, imagining the Cruel Prince Erik sweeping down on her village in a fury, tearing it apart as he searched for his missing prisoner.

“Will this be suitable?” the prince asked. She was surprised to not only by the lack of malice in his voice, but the edge of softness it had as well. She wasn't sure where this sudden gentleness had come from, but she had no intention of returning it.

Stone-faced, she turned to gaze at the prince who still stood in the doorway. Christine stared right into his emerald eyes. She would make it clear here and now that he did not intimidate her in the slightest, and she would not willingly take any further cruelty or abuse form him. “Does it matter?”

Once again, that fiery angry passed over his face. It was soon replaced by nonchalance. Christine was slightly taken aback by his constant mood swings, how quickly he could put away his anger if he so chose. He gave a simple shrug. “I suppose not.” For a moment, the two stood in silence, staring each other down. The prince thought for a moment before speaking again. “You have free run of the castle and can go most anywhere you choose. The gardens, the libraries, the kitchens, the dining halls, the parlors. I don’t really care. But the western wing is entirely forbidden. No one in the palace is permitted in there.”

Christine’s curiosity piqued. “May I ask why that area in particular is off-limits?”

“No,” he responded without hesitation. “You have no reason to know why, just that it is. It will make life simpler for both of us if you do as your told.”

“Is there anything else?” she asked gruffly.

“The wardrobe and nightstands are fully stocked. Wear whatever you may like. If you need anything done, just ask one of the servants. Meg and Antoinette are usually within earshot.” He paused again before his face softened a bit and he awkwardly continued, “Is there…anything you may need? If so, feel free to ask now. Or whenever a need arises.”

Christine was surprised by what appeared to be a peace offering, but she wasn’t in the mood to try making friends. She remained silent, even going so far as to turn her back on him. When the prince spoke next, his voice had regained its sharp, cold edge. “So be it. Dinner will be served in an hour. If you don’t join me, then you can go hungry tonight.”

 _Are we done trying to be friends already?_ Christine smirked, making a mental note that the prince gave up quite easily when he was ignored.

He didn’t say anything else before Christine heard the door close with a slam. The moment he was gone, she ran to the door and tried the knob. It was still unlocked. When she peaked her head out, she could see the prince heading back down the hall, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. She closed the door softly and wondered why he trusted her with an unlocked door. He seemed to believe she wasn’t going anywhere.

As she gazed out the window, Christine realized he must be trusting the forest to serve as her lock-and-key. Thinking back on the state of her father’s wagon and his broken violin, it was with a cold shock of fear Christine knew it was a miracle she had gotten through the forest without incident. When she thought of the men who must be wandering out there, waiting for their next unwary victim, she knew it would be far too dangerous to attempt to pass through again. At least, not without someone to protect her.

Christine turned to the bed and ran to it, throwing herself face down onto the sheets. She screamed into the pillows as loud, hard, and long as she could as thoughts of her father and Raoul filled her mind once more. Images of the people she would never see or hold again swarmed before her, struggling for dominance.

At last, the Raoul won out over her father and floated to the forefront, firmly outlined in her vision. She could see him as he would have been when he returned to the cottage and found her gone. He would have been confused, possibly a bit angry, and worried. Would he search for her? For how long? Would he even begin to guess at where she had gone or the mess she had gotten herself into? How she wished she had listened to him and just waited. They could have gone together, and he would have protected her from Prince Erik. She thought of how happy she had been, just a few hours before, when she had been sitting with Raoul at her table… She supposed she would never see her cottage again, either.

She was ready to let the tears flow freely when there was a gentle knock at the door. Not wanting to speak to anyone, Christine screamed, “Go away!” without looking up from her pillow. Whoever was standing outside pushed the door open anyway, closing it loudly behind them.

“That won’t win you any battles, dear,” a kind, old voice told her.

Sniffling, Christine sat up and saw that a woman a few years older than her father had entered the room. She had beautiful sandy brown hair that had started to silver tied in a tight braid that fell past her waist. The woman was wearing a red-and-green servant outfit. “Who are you?” Christine asked, brushing away the stray tears that had started to fall.

“I am Antoinette,” the woman said, bowing her head in greeting. “I am the head of the prince’s serving staff…or what remains of it. My daughter Meg and I have been charged with looking after you. Whatever you have need of, if we can get it for you we shall.” Christine turned her back on Antoinette, crossing her arms. She wanted nothing from anyone who had anything to do with the prince. Antoinette sighed. “Ignoring me won’t make me go away, dear, and it certainly won’t improve your situation. If I were you, I would make as many friends as you could. It will help you in the long run. And perhaps it may help you find some peace, if not happiness.”

“You’re one of his people.”

“Not necessarily by choice. Not anymore, at least. If I could have, I would have left him six years ago after the fire. You must know he wasn’t always like this. There’s no way you haven’t heard the stories.” Antoinette’s voice took on a wistful air. “He was once so full of life and joy and music… Would you believe he used to smile? He had the most handsome smile. And such a bright laugh. But not anymore. He used to sing all the time, too. He loved nothing more than that. But...he doesn’t even allow music in the palace anymore, it’s completely forbidden. Can you believe it? A world with no music is a sad world for all who are part of it…” Antoinette suddenly stopped speaking. “Forgive me, my dear. I didn’t mean to ramble. Now…we should probably dress you for dinner. That little outfit won’t do if you’re feasting with the prince.”

He had forbidden music? How could someone forbid something so beautiful, something so pure and joyful? She supposed it made sense, given how dark and angry the prince was. How could someone like that enjoy having something so bright in his life? Christine wasn't sure she even believed what Antoinette had told her about the prince at all. “I’m not going to dinner,” Christine told Antoinette sharply, shaking her head of the thoughts.

She turned back when she heard the wardrobe being thrown open. “Don’t be ridiculous. Starving yourself won’t change anything, either.” Antoinette flipped through the dresses, pulling out the ones she thought looked nice. “If you want my advice, you should make the best of this. You have been put in a terrible situation, and I understand that. Harbor your resentments of Erik if you must but being negative towards those that only show you kindness is not the answer. Neither is resigning yourself to the slow and painful death of starvation.”

“No one is asking for your advice,” she spat, still too furious and sorrowful to see the sense in what the elderly woman told her.

Antoinette put down the dress she had been examining and turned her eyes towards Christine. “You know, you aren’t the first woman that’s stumbled into the palace, but you are the first who has been shown any mercy. The prince has never let anyone go before, nor has he allowed them to stay in a room or receive food from his table. In many ways, you are extraordinarily lucky. Take advantage of these great gifts you’ve been given.”

“Lucky?!” Christine scoffed. “I’ve lost everything! How could I possibly think of myself as lucky?! And as for his… _gifts_ ,” she spat the words like a curse, “I want _nothing_ from him. From any of you!”

Choosing to ignore her outburst, Antoinette took a white gown embroidered with gold and placed it on the bed. “He always liked this one,” she said as she did so. As she put away the other dresses and closed the wardrobe she said, “Dress now, my dear, and hurry out. I will lead you to where you will be dining.”

“I am not going to eat with him!” Christine called after the woman as she exited the room. “None of you can make me!”

The door closed, and Christine found herself alone once more. Furious, she swept the dress off the bed and onto the floor. There was no way she was doing anything that involved her spending any time with the prince. He had taken everything from her. And he hadn’t even let her say goodbye to the life she was leaving behind. She hated him, and she hated Antoinette and all the others who served him.

Christine went to the door and noticed that it locked from the inside. She turned it before running back to the bed and burrowed under the covers, her boots still on. For a while, she was left in silence but a handful of moments later, she heard the handle being tried.

“My dear, please come out. It will be better for everyone if you just do as the master commands.”

Instead of responding, Christine threw the blankets of her head and squeezed her eyes shut. “If you do not come to eat with him now, you will not get to eat at all. The master will make good on that promise!” After another minute of non-response, Antoinette sighed. “Have it your way. I will inform the prince that you will not be joining him tonight.”

As the woman’s footsteps retreated from the door, Christine felt a tear trace its way down her face and off the tip of her nose. Perhaps she could starve herself and end this torment… With the thoughts of Raoul and her father bouncing around her head almost mockingly, Christine at last drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

*

Prince Erik sat at his grand dining table, a long block of white granite with chairs lining either side. For now, those chairs were empty. But tonight, he intended to have one of them filled. The girl would come down to eat with him if she ever wanted to eat again, he swore. He drummed his fingers on the table as he watched the door, waiting for Antoinette and the girl to arrive.

Standing across the room beside the door were his two most…entertaining servants, Gilles André and Richard Firmin. André was a short, gray, mousy man, and was much older than the prince he served. He was balding. What hair he had left was the same color as fresh snowfall. Most of that hair covered the back of his head, and it had a frizzy, uncontrollable appearance. He wore a small beard and mustache he believed made him look elegant, but all it did in Erik’s mind was prove that he had no real place in high society.

The other man, Firmin, was quite taller and a much more cheerful air about him. Unlike André, Firmin still had a full head of deep, brown hair, though his sideburns were a peppery gray and he had large streaks of the color through the brown that topped his head. Firmin had no beard, but he did have a full and proud mustache, its brown edges tipped with gray. It was a bit classier than André’s facial hair, but it was still frustrating for Erik to have to look at every day.

One never went far without the other, and whenever the prince called for one, both of them tended to appear. They stood at attention now, hands folded in front of them, prepared to move when the prince called for them.

Both men wore red coats with short tails over green shirts, red pants, and black riding boots. Erik had always hated the uniform colors, even as a child, but after the deaths of his parents, he hadn’t had the heart to change them. It was a small piece of them that the prince allowed to remain. A reminder to all that had been lost to him, like the painting in the entry hall of him in his youth. Though he had destroyed that shortly after his return so that whenever he looked at it, he would remember that that man had died in the fire along with his parents. Along with…her.

Behind him, at his left shoulder, stood the daughter of Erik’s closest servant, Meg Giry. Her blonde hair caught the torchlight and glistened like strands of gold. Meg’s eyes were downcast, still red and puffy from crying. She blamed herself for the imprisonment of the man whom the girl had replaced, as well she should. She knew the rules of the palace. His servants were the first and only line of defense trespassers had here. Erik hadn’t quite forgiven her for not only failing as the man’s protection, but for breaching his trust and respect by letting the trespasser sit in his own chair.

As the minutes passed by and the girl still did not come, Erik grew impatient. He wasn’t used to being kept waiting like this. The girl was trying his patience. As he thought of her now, a face not so different from her own swam before him. His angel. His truest and only love. His Emmeline.

Everything about this girl reminded Erik of her. From the way she looked down the very way she walked was so strikingly similar to his Emmeline it had scared him. When he had first lain eyes on her, he had truly believed she had come back from the dead. It was the fear in her eyes, the lack of recognition, that shocked him from his stupor. Erik had offered her freedom at first because of Antoinette’s pleadings (“Isn’t one enough, Erik?”), but when she had turned him down he was ready to throw her in the cell alongside her father. Yet, as he had looked down upon her, Erik had found himself unable to do something that cruel to someone who looked so much like his love.

A part of him considered letting them both leave out of respect to Emmeline's memory, but his hardened heart had ached at thought. Even if only in superficial ways, her likeness to Emmeline was too much for Erik to let slip through his fingers.

His thoughts were interrupted as the door to the dining hall was pushed open. Antoinette entered the room. Alone. Once more, Erik felt a frustrated anger fill his chest. This girl was being so stubborn, almost to the point of being impossible. He growled. “Well? Where is she?”

“She isn’t coming,” Antoinette told him simply. Her gray eyes glinted with a haughty light. This woman was one of the few who had never come to fear him. She never sugarcoated anything for him, either. It was always straight to the point. As much as it annoyed the prince that Antoinette sometimes bordered on disrespectful, he knew he owed her a life debt and so let much of what she said or did slide.

He put his face in his hands, grunting in frustration. _Is this how she thanks me for my generosity? Perhaps I've been_ too  _gentle._  The prince thought. “I told her,” Erik said aloud, “that if she didn’t come, she didn’t eat. Was that not motivation enough for her?”

“Perhaps, Erik, if you had let her at least say goodbye to her father instead of just shipping him off, she would have agreed to come eat with you.”

Erik glared up at Antoinette, unresponsive.

“It might suit both of your needs better if you tried being kinder to the poor girl.”

“I’ve given her the nicest room in the castle, all of the dresses she could possibly want! She can go anywhere in the palace, within reason! What else does she want from me?”

“Pithy things given all that she’s lost,” Antoinette’s eyes narrowed. “Her father, her friends, her home, her freedom… She gave all of that up to save the life of another. Another you _knew_ needed help. A nice room and a new dress aren’t going to repair what has been broken.”

“What do you propose I do?” he growled, rubbing his unmasked eye hard enough to see stars.

“Perhaps,” André suggested timidly, “the prince could go and speak to the girl?”

“Yes, try asking her kindly to come and join you, instead of ordering her,” Firmin continued, his voice bubbly.

 _André and Firmin, my dynamic duo,_ Erik thought in annoyance. “If I want your opinions, I’ll ask for them,” Erik hissed.

“They have a point, Erik,” Antoinette told him gently. “Instead of giving her commands, give her choices. Speak kindly to her. Invite her to join you, that it would be your pleasure to host her. Tell her you want her to be as happy and comfortable as she can be while she’s here. If you must,” her voice lowered, “pretend she’s the one you believed her to be when you saw her. That might help.”

A hallow ball filled Erik’s chest. Perhaps it would help if he saw her as Emmeline instead of as a girl who had trespassed into his palace. He sighed, then pushed his chair back and climbed to his feet. “I will try it your way.”

“Be patient with her, Erik, and, please…attempt to control your temper. Remember everything that she had lost today. She’s bound to be irritable.”

With another sigh, Erik walked along the table and out the doors, which André and Firmin pushed open for him. He could feel Antoinette watching him as he started up to the stairs to the second floor. He went straight to the girl’s room, stopping in front of the closed doors. Taking a deep breath, he thought to himself, _Treat her as you would Emmeline._ Then knocked.

There was no response from inside. He tried the knob, only to discover that she had locked the door. He bit the inside of his cheek as he took the master key from the front pocket of his suit jacket. Erik pushed the key into the lock, turned it, and lightly tapped the door open.

*

Christine woke with the knock at her door. She assumed it was Antoinette again until she heard the key in the lock. Moments later, the door was squeaking open. Squeezing her eyes shut tighter, she willed herself to fall back to sleep, knowing who it must be who had come to see her. He was the last person she wanted to speak with right now. Christine steadied her breathing, hoping she could trick him into thinking that she was still asleep.

She felt the bed sag under the added weight as the prince sat down on the edge of it. “I suppose you’ve realized by now that I am not very good at dealing with people.”

As hard as she tried to bite back a snide remark, the bait was to delicious to ignore. “You don’t say.” Frustrated, Christine pulled the blanket from over her head, opened her eyes, and sat up, resting against the headboard. She glared up at him, annoyed that even when sitting he still managed to tower over her. A flash of curiosity surged through her when she saw his face did not have the same cold distance it had had before. Was he trying to reach out again so soon? Maybe he _didn’t_ give up that easily. “What do you want?”

“I want to talk.” He shifted so he was looking directly into Christine’s eyes. Now that his emerald gaze was softer, more welcoming, Christine could almost see a gentle soul she wasn’t even sure he possessed. “I know we got off on the wrong foot earlier…”

Christine laughed at this. “A bit of an understatement, wouldn’t you say?”

She expected him to get angry at this, but he seemed to just shrug it off and continued. “And I realized that I have been…unfair. I put you in a bad situation, and I didn’t let you say goodbye to your father as I should have. I…I…”

He seemed to struggle with the next part. Christine knew instinctively what he was trying to say, but she needed to hear it. To prove he was capable of some sort of kindness. “It start’s with an ‘a’.”

The prince gritted his teeth. She had successfully irritated him again, she knew. Another point in her favor. “I apologize.”

There was an awkwardly long silence between the two as Christine turned his apology over in her head. Part of her believed that this was just an act by the prince, that he wasn’t being entirely sincere with her. He just wanted to find a new way to control her as she so easily seemed to ignore him and get under his skin. In Christine’s mind, if he was truly sorry, he would tell her she could go home. Hell, he would escort her there himself to prove just how repentant he was. But that wasn’t going to happen, and both of them knew it. So, Christine didn’t respond.

“I suppose…” the prince went on slowly, breaking the silence, “we haven’t been officially introduced.”

“What is that supposed to me?”

“We know each other’s names, but we haven’t really met…”

Unable to control herself, Christine let out an angry laugh. The prince seemed slightly taken aback by her response. All at once, her fury bubbled over. “My father came to you for help and you locked him in a cell. I find him half dying, and the only way to save him is for me to become a prisoner in his place. You send him away before I have a chance to think, demand I eat dinner with you or starve, and now you want to exchange _pleasantries_?!” Every word she spoke, every syllable, dripped with the venom of pure hatred.

The prince was watching her with wide, shocked eyes. He obviously hadn’t expected this reaction from her. Whatever he had prepared for, it hadn’t been open hostility. “I’ve already apologized…”

“Empty words,” Christine spat. “If you were truly sorry, you know how you would show it. But you aren’t going to. Because, for some reason, in your twisted mind, you _need_ a prisoner. You need someone to be here, under your control, so you can fulfill whatever disturbed fantasy you live in.” She turned and lay on her side, facing away from him. “You’re pathetic.”

He got to his feet, the bed creaking as the extra burden was removed. At last, he spoke, his voice icy once again. Christine had broken through his kind façade. “I came here trying to start over, but you seem content to live in the anger of the past. Fine, then, girl. Live in the past. Ignore the present and fail to acknowledge the future. You can come down and eat with me, or you can stay up here and stave for all I care.” When the prince next entered her vision, he was at the door. “Just remember I did try to be kind to you.”

A short while after he left, Christine got to her feet and snuck to the door. She pressed her ear to the crack and heard the prince still out there, arguing with Antoinette.

“You should have tried harder!” the servant’s voice rang.

“What would you have me do?!” the prince responded, exasperated. He almost sounded…upset? “I can only go so far! She needs to meet me halfway at the least, and she’s not willing to do that!”

“She isn’t willing to do that _yet_. Please remember what she’s been through today. For both of your sakes, give her time. She’ll came around, you know she will. Just…don’t give up on her. Not when you've just started trying.”

The voices faded as the pair headed towards the stairwell. Christine turned and pressed her back to the door, sliding to the ground. Trying to ignore her growling stomach, she buried her head in her knees. _She’ll come around,_ Antoinette had said. She had sounded so sure of herself. But if there was one thing Christine was positive of, it was that there was a fat chance of that ever happening.


	6. Chapter 6

Christine awoke once more several hours later, still upright with her back pressed against the door. She was stiff from having fallen asleep in her sitting position and though she had slept almost the entire day away, she still felt exhausted. Her eyes burned from all the tears she had shed in such a short period of time. She stared out the window across from her and saw that the sky was pitch black. It must have been very late. Slowly climbing to her feet, Christine turned to the bed, ready to fall into it and rest awhile longer. Before she had a chance, her stomach rumbled loudly, making her realize how hungry she was and how long it had been since she had last eaten.

The prince’s promise that she wouldn’t be allowed to eat would most definitely still ring true, especially after the way she had spoken to him earlier that evening. Thinking back on it, she found herself flinching at her comments. Her father had raised her better than that. Christine had always been proud of her ability to turn the other cheek, no matter the situation. Even in these spectacular circumstances, her speech had been shameful.

As her stomach rumbled a second, louder time, Christine knew she wouldn’t be able to ignore it and fall back to sleep. She was going to have to find something to eat without the prince learning about it. His hands of friendship she had turned down, and she dreaded what would happen if he found out she had defied him. Christine snuck up to the door and drew it open slowly. The hallway outside was still dark, but the torches along the walls lit the way. They crackled brightly in their sconces, doing all they could to push back the darkness. Stepping out of the room, Christine started down the hall and the stairs at the other end of it. She followed the torches, trying each door she passed on the lower floor in search of a kitchen. At the fourth door she tried, her stomach dropped when she realized the room was already occupied.

The fear slowly drained away when she saw that it was not the prince. Standing in front of a small bookshelf, reaching up on her tiptoes to bring down one of the leather bound tomes, was a girl about Christine's age with blonde hair cascading gently down her back. The girl dropped flat to her feet and turned, smiling when she saw Christine. “Good evening, Mademoiselle.” The girl bowed. When she stood, Christine could see her eyes were red and watery. Despite her smile, this girl was very upset.

“Who are you?” Christine asked, eyeing the maid’s dress the girl wore cautiously. Was she about to run off and tell the prince that Christine was wandering the palace? Of course, the prince had told her that she could have the run of the castle and there wasn’t any way this girl could know she was planning on defying the prince’s orders about eating. What could she tell him, really? Still, Christine decided that caution was the best way to handle this situation.

“My name is Meg Giry,” the girl responded. Her smile faded as she crossed to Christine, taking one of her hands in both of hers. The sudden display of kinship took Christine by surprise. “I want to tell you how very, very sorry I am.”

Christine’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I was the one who let your father into the palace. If I had just turned him away like I was supposed to, then he wouldn't have...and you wouldn't be..." Tears welled up in Meg’s eyes, her voice became hoarse and quiet. “Forgive me, Mademoiselle.”

A fire in Christine’s heart began to burn again. The prince seemed to cause misery even among his own staff. This poor girl was blaming herself for things that he had done. There was so little Christine could set right with her situation, but maybe she could fix this.

“You have done nothing that needs forgiving, Meg,” Christine told her gently, but with conviction. She placed her free hand on the servant’s cheek. “You did only what any other good person would have. You saw a sick man in need of assistance, and you offered him help. The only person at fault for this is the prince. And please…call me Christine.”

Meg looked at her, relief flooding her gaze. “Oh Christine, you must be the kindest person I’ve ever met. I don’t know many who would forgive me as easily as you have…” She was cut off by the third loud growl in Christine’s stomach. Embarrassed, she took her hands back and pressed them to her abdomen, trying to silence the sounds. Meg laughed gently, covering her mouth with her hands. “You must be so hungry! Come to the kitchen. I’ll find you something to eat.”

“You really shouldn’t,” Christine protested as Meg took her hand again, trying to lead her from the room. “The prince said…”

“If you’re worried you’ll get into trouble…”

“I’m more worried about you. How much trouble will you be in if he finds out?”

Meg gave Christine a sad smile. “No more than I’m already in. Besides, the prince is to fond of my mother to do anything harmful to me.”

Christine had a hard time seeing the prince as being fond of anyone, but she allowed Meg to take her from the room. She brought her down a new hallway, stopping in front of one of the doors. Meg pushed it open and pulled Christine inside.

She found herself in a large, warm kitchen made of the same black stone as the rest of the palace. The floor was hardwood and counters covered almost every inch of it. The room was fully stocked and supplied, capable of feeding the entire village and then some. For such a large kitchen, there appeared to only be two people staffing it. One was a short elderly gentleman, the other a tall man with a younger appearance. They both turned as Meg and Christine entered.

When the small man saw her, his eyes widened with fear and he breathed in sharply. The taller man smiled brightly, crossed the room, and took her hand from Meg’s grip in his. “It is a pleasure to meet you at last, Mademoiselle!” he cheered, still wearing his large grin. “We were wondering if you were ever going to leave your room!”

“What is she doing here?” the small man hissed, stalking over to stand beside them. “You _know_ the master’s orders, Meg!”

“I do, André,” Meg responded sharply. “But I am not going to let her starve because of hot heads and poor attitudes. Firmin,” her voice lost its edge, “could you prepare something for our guest?”

“It would be my honor!” Firmin bowed to both Meg and Christine, then turned and shuffled through the kitchen, humming to himself as he went.

“Are you insane?!” André called, chasing after him. “If the master finds out about this, he’ll have _all_ of our heads! Do you want to spend the rest of your days in a cell? Or worse…dead?” He stood beside Firmin, whispering furiously in his ear.

Behind them, the door opened. Christine stiffened, fearing that the prince had heard the noise her two new acquaintances were making and had come to investigate. Glancing over her shoulder, Christine let out a sigh of relief. It was only Antoinette, who stood with her arms crossed, a knowing smile on her face. “It is nice of you to join us, my dear.”

As Christine faced the elderly servant, she began to realize that she had been unnecessarily cruel when they had first met. While her hatred of the prince was still, in her mind, warranted, her treatment of this woman who had only tried to help was completely uncalled for. Christine felt her face flush as she bowed her head. “I should apologize for how I behaved earlier.”

“As far as I am concerned, my dear, you have nothing to apologize for.” Antoinette crossed to stand in front of Christine, placing a hand under her chin. She lifted Christine’s face with a gentle finger so the two were looking eye-to-eye. “I can only imagine how you must be feeling. You were not entirely responsible for your words.”

Taken aback by her kindness, Christine’s eyes started burning. “Thank you, Madame.”

Antoinette laughed. “Please, my dear. Call me Antoinette. Perhaps now that we’re on speaking terms, I could get your name?”

“I’m Christine Daaé.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you at last, Christine Daaé."

From behind them, Firmin cleared his throat. Christine turned and saw that he had prepared no simple meal as she had expected. Firmin had constructed a three-course dinner. André was muttering furiously, glaring at his partner and the three trays he had created. “You didn’t need to do all of this!” Christine cried with a smile.

Firmin gave a deep bow. “It was my pleasure, Mademoiselle.”

Christine approached the counter the three dishes sat on. The first was a thick, bright orange tomato soup with slice of bread for dipping. On the second was a small golden leg of chicken coated in an herbal glaze. Sitting on the third was a large piece of pure chocolate cake. He had pulled out all the stops for her, not going half-way with any dish. And he had done it so quickly! He must have been some kind of wizard to have cooked up three courses in that short a time.

“All she needed was bread and some water. That was all we had to do. If the master were to come down…” André growled.

“Oh, hush now,” Firmin cut him off shortly. “We have the means to give the girl something special, so we shall. Besides, bread and water does not a meal make for a young, growing woman. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“If he comes down and sees what we’ve done, he will be _beyond_ furious! Don’t you understand that?! We disobeyed his wishes! You don’t disobey the prince!”

“Peace, André.” Antoinette’s voice was gentle. Her eyes fell on Christine as the young girl started on her meal. “The prince wouldn’t hurt her, and I doubt her actually wants her to go hungry.”

“I’m not talking about _her_ , I’m talking about _us_! So what if the master won’t hurt her? Do you really think that same privilege applies to the servants? Besides! If the prince didn’t want her to go hungry,” André crossed his arms, “then why did he give the order?”

“First of all, the prince would not harm any of us, André and I believe you know that better than you pretend. And as for his order...I think he is confused. He doesn’t know what he wants right now.”

Interrupting their conversation, Christine complimented, “This is wonderful Firmin. I’ve never met a man who could cook like this.”

“You honor me, Mademoiselle. I am only sorry it isn't the freshest of meals but on such short notice..."

"I couldn't even tell they were remade! You are a very talented chef."

"Why thank you, Mademoiselle. Everything I know I learned from my mother.” He bowed deeply once again. “The compliments are sincerely appreciated.”

Christine hadn’t fully understood just how hungry she was until she had put that first bite in her mouth. She tore through the three courses. Once the cake was gone, she stood back, satisfied and feeling groggy. “That was wonderful. Thank you,” she grinned.

“Perhaps the Mademoiselle would like a tour of some of the palace?” Firmin offered.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no!” André interjected. “She needs to go straight back to her room! If the master…” “

The master,” Christine cut in, “said I had free reign of the castle. I can go anywhere I choose. If I decide I would like a tour, then I can have one. Monsieur Firmin, I would _love_ for you to show me around.”

Antoinette started picking up the plates. “You and André can take her, Firmin. Meg and I will clean up in here.”

“What would you like to see first?” Firmin took her arm and led her from the kitchen. André had followed them out, mumbling protestations under his breath. “Do you like to read? We have several libraries. Or perhaps dancing is more your style. If so, there are dozens of ballrooms we could visit.”

“I _really_ love music,” Christine told him honestly. She felt she could be open with this man. “I’ve always enjoyed singing the most.”

Almost without thinking, Firmin responded, “Well the master did have a music room, once upon a time…”

“A music room?” Christine perked up. Antoinette had told her the prince once loved to sing, but knowing there was a room dedicated purely to that? She wondered if she would be able to find it.

“Firmin!” André screeched. “This is one order we cannot defy! There is to be no music in the palace. Never!”

Now that Christine was speaking to people who might know, she felt compelled to ask, “Why would he order something like that?”

André and Firmin exchanged a glance. “We don’t…really know,” André responded.

Christine had a feeling he wasn’t being entirely honest. “Come on! One of you must have some idea as to why!”

Firmin shrugged. “All I’m really sure of is that there hasn’t been music in the palace for nearly six years. The prince absolutely abhors it…” He paused and thought for a moment before perking up. “Before the fire, though, there was nothing he loved more than the musical arts. The prince spent all his time in the west wing as a child.”

“The west wing…is that where his music room was?”

Before Firmin could respond, André shouted, “Even if it was in the west wing, you must not go looking for it! First off, that part of the castle is in shambles. The prince never had it rebuilt or even cleaned after the fire. Going in there is dangerous. And the music room itself…just forget you’ve ever even heard of it. No one is allowed near it, not even us. The prince would be beyond furious. Any anger you think you’ve seen from him, it would be overshadowed by his rage if he ever finds you there. And as for you, Firmin!” he rounded on his partner. “You have said far too much! Send the girl to bed before you say anything else! For all of our sakes!”

Firmin turned to André and the pair started to argue. Christine could sense she had lost her guide. She had prodded to deeply into the private matters of the prince and his castle. Seeing that the two were going to be arguing for quite some time, Christine said, “It’s alright. I was getting tired anyway. The meal was so good and filling, it’s made me drowsy. Thank you, Firmin. I appreciate all you’ve done.”

“Good night, Mademoiselle!” Firmin called cheerfully before returning to his argument.

Christine sighed, turning her back on them and starting down the hall back up the stairs. When she returned to the room, she closed the door, leaving it unlocked this time. There was no point in her locking it if the one person she most wanted to keep out was able to get in anyway.

Lying on the bed, Christine found her mind wandering to the mysterious music room. _Somewhere in the west wing, the one place in the palace I’m not permitted to go…_ The more she thought about it, the more curious she became. Christine knew it would be dangerous, and she would risk the wrath of the prince, but her mind wouldn’t be at peace until she found that music room. If she could have even a small connection to the life she had left behind, then maybe she would be able to bring herself some joy.


	7. Chapter 7

Raoul sat at the wooden table in the Daaé kitchen, his fingers drumming anxiously against the flat hardwood tabletop. He glanced nervously at the clock on the wall as the minutes ticked slowly away, feeling his heart lurch every time the large hand inched towards the fifth minute interval. Christine had been gone for several hours, and he had heard nothing from his father and the other village men that had gone in search of both her and her father.

When Christine had said she believed Gustave to be in trouble, Raoul had thought she was rushing to conclusions. Her mind was always active, and coming up with danger where none existed, but seeing her face, hearing the fear in her voice, he began to take her concern seriously.

He had gone straight home from Christine’s where he pleaded with his father to help him look for Gustave. Philbert de Chagny hadn’t been hard to convince. He loved Raoul and he cared for Christine. His father gathered together a group of men from the village and they had all returned to the small cottage at the edge of the town. But even coming as quickly as they had they were still too slow. Christine and her father’s horse were both gone. At first, Raoul was frustrated. He had told her to wait for him. He hadn’t even been gone that long! But as the time passed and he sat here, waiting, the more his frustration became fear. Where had Gustave and his Little Lottie gotten to that his father hadn’t found them yet?

Before the group had departed, Philbert explained that there were two possible places the pair had gone. He split up the larger group into two smaller ones. One would search the village from top to bottom, led by a man who knew every nook, cranny, and hidden corner. The other, led by Philbert who was a master tracker and hunter, would head into the forest bordering the prince’s palace. While it seemed highly unlikely that Christine and Gustave had wound up in there, it was necessary that they exhaust every possible nearby location before extending the range of their search.

Raoul listened to all of this without speaking. He could feel his hands shaking at his sides, at that point not knowing if it was from annoyance at Christine’s flight, or concern. What he did know was that he wouldn’t be much use to either party with the confused state his mind was in now. “Someone should stay here,” he added on as Philbert finished his instructions. “Just in case they come back.”

His father watched Raoul knowingly. “That’s a good idea. If they make it back here before we find them, come and find one of us, alright, Raoul?”

Not trusting himself to speak, Raoul nodded.

Philbert put his hands on his son’s shoulders. “I know how important she is to you. She’s important to your mother and I, too. We are going to do everything we can to get her back to you safely.”

“I know.” The response had been meek. He had watched the party ride off from the front of the house, feeling utterly helpless.

As the sun had set and the sky turned black, the helplessness only grew. None of the men had returned. No word had reached Raoul as to how the search was going. The longer he sat there, alone and with no information, the more his imagination ran away with him.

He had seen Christine’s body lying mangled and broken, her life brutally taken. He had seen her attacked by wolves or worse, bandits. Fallen off her horse and broken her neck. Lost and starving, far from his reach, from his help… She was strong and independent in her own way, but she was still a young woman traveling completely alone into unknown territory. There were many dangers that faced someone like her, and Raoul had no way to shield her from them now. He had shed many tears that night and blamed himself for leaving her alone when she was at her most desperate. If only he had brought her with him! All of this could have been so easily avoided if he’d only been thinking!

Raoul buried his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes with his palms hard enough to make stars and swirls dance across his vision. He should be out there, helping his father search for her. What use was he to her here, sitting in her little kitchen, waiting useless for her to come in when he knew she wouldn’t?

It was hard to believe that only a few hours before he had been hinting at proposing to her. The memory of her joy at the prospect made his throat tighten. They would be so happy together. He loved her so, so much. But now… _Now it might never happen._ Raoul came to the terrifying realization.

Unable to sit any longer, he got to his feet and started to pace. Raoul knew he needed to find a way to distract his tired and distraught mind, but he had no idea of what would really help. He had already taken care of the animals, feeding them throughout the day and putting them back in their pens as night closed in (Christine had taught him a few things about caring for the farm animals). When that was done, Raoul found himself organizing some of the dirtier parts of the home, though those were few and far between. Christine took good care of this house, never letting dirt, grime, or uncleanliness invade for very long. He did everything he could possibly think of but avoided sleep whatever the cost. Though sleep was the one thing he needed more than anything else, it was the one thing he couldn’t have. When someone returned, he would need to be awake and ready to help.

How long he spent pacing, he wasn’t sure. He had stopped watching the clock – it only made him feel worse. But sometime later, his back and forth rhythm was interrupted by the sound of the door being thrown open and footsteps approaching the kitchen. Raoul stopped and faced the hallway, holding his breath. He released it the moment her recognized Philbert’s large silhouette filling the doorframe.

“Any luck?” Raoul asked breathlessly.

Philbert sighed, collapsing into one of the wooden chairs, exhausted. “You should sit down, Raoul,” he whispered in response.

Raoul felt as if he was walking through a dream as he sat across from his father. It was bad news. He knew it.

“She isn’t anywhere in the village. Even without talking to the other searching party I know that.” Philbert took a deep breath. “I picked up her trail leading into the forest.”

It felt like Raoul had been punched in the gut. What in God’s name had she been doing there? Everyone in the village knew how dangerous it was, and not just because of the prince. All kinds of ill sorts wandered within those trees, looking to prey on the unwary and careless.

His father continued, “We were able to follow it for a while. She ran the horse hard and it left a distinctive trail. She was definitely looking for signs of her father, and she definitely found one.” Philbert hesitated, unsure of how to continue. He closed his eyes for a moment. “We found Gustave’s wagon. It had been completely raided. His money was gone, and his violin was destroyed.”

For a moment, Raoul forgot how to breathe. Gustave had been assaulted by bandits. And if Christine had stumbled upon that scene, she may have run into the bandits in the act. Raoul felt a cold dread drip down his spine as he thought of what they would have done to her.

Philbert didn’t wait long enough for Raoul’s mind to go to far as he went on, “We didn’t see any blood or bodies, and no sign of anyone getting seriously injured. Whatever happened to Gustave or Christine at the wagon, I am almost positive they both survived it.”

“You can’t know that for sure, though,” Raoul responded. “And if even they survived, it doesn’t mean they weren’t kidnapped.”

“That is true, Raoul. I’m sorry. We looked for a while longer, but there were no other signs of her. The trail went cold a few yards from the wagon. Wherever she’s gone, we can’t track her any further.”

Something inside of him snapped. “You’re telling me she’s out there in that hellish forest alone? And you didn’t stay to keep looking her?”

“Calm down, Raoul,” Philbert whispered. He didn’t raise his voice. He never raised his voice, not with any of his children. Whenever Philbert was angry or frustrated, he merely dropped his tone and spoke in a soft whisper. It worked on everyone no matter the situation. There was something much more terrifying about his soft voice than there would be about his loud one. And, as was typical, it worked here.

Raoul’s mouth snapped shut and he shrank down in his seat, making himself smaller like he did when he was a child.

“There was nothing more we could do by that point.” His father’s voice returned to normal, knowing the dissention had passed. “I wasn’t able to find anything, and neither was anyone else. We will take up the search again tomorrow but for now, it’s too late and too dark for us to go on.”

All Raoul had done throughout the entire process was sit useless in a house while other men did the work he should have been doing. And now, he knew how much danger Christine was in. He couldn’t sit passively by any more. She needed is help. Raoul climbed to his feet.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Philbert asked softly, his voice taking on that dangers, quiet edge again.

“To do what you won’t. I’m going to look for her.”

“Raoul for even a moment try and think with your head instead of your heart. That first is thick. Even on a bright and sunny morning it would be hard to see where you’re going. It’s nearly impossible to see anything right now. You’re no use to her out there, wandering aimlessly in the dark. The best you could hope for is a horse with a broken leg if you go out now, and that is quite literally the best possible option.”

“I don’t care,” Raoul responded sharply. “She’s out there somewhere, alone, and she can’t defend herself. I will not leave her to the mercy of the dangers of the forest.” He grabbed his jacket on the counter and exited the kitchen. He could hear Philbert following him.

“All you’re going to get for this valiant deed is an early burial. You can’t protect her, you can’t find her, you can’t _marry_ her if you’re dead.”

“I can’t do any of that if _she_ is dead,” Raoul responded matter-of-factly. “I am going after her, and I will find her. With or without your help…or blessing.” Raoul had reached the front door. He grabbed the handle and yanked it open forcefully. He rounded on his father. “You know you can’t stop me. I’ve made up my mind.”

“Please, Raoul, just listen to me for a moment. You can’t…” Philbert paused, his gaze focusing on something over Raoul’s shoulder. Raoul heard his father gave a sharp gasp. “Gustave,” he whispered.

“What?!” Raoul whipped around. It was true. Coming up the walk, staggering and barely standing upright, was Gustave Daaé. Raoul dropped his coat to the ground and ran out to meet the struggling man. The moment he reached Gustave’s side, he wrapped one arm around his shoulders, the other he placed in front, across the man’s chest. “Lean on me, Monsieur,” Raoul told him softly.

He felt Gustave sag, resting heavily against him. Raoul led the man quickly up the walk, through the door, and into the house. Philbert hadn’t moved from the doorway, watching this all closely, and shut the door behind them once Gustave and Raoul were inside. He followed them into the dining room.

Raoul helped Gustave sit in one of the chairs and Philbert rushed through the kitchen, trying to find ingredients for warm tea. Gustave was pale, paler than Raoul had ever seen him, and his hair looked three shades grayer than it had the last time he had seen the musician. His eyes were wide with fright and his face was showing its age now more than ever before. He was shaking terribly, felt cold to the touch, and he wasn’t catching his breath. Raoul turned and ran to the room down the hall, finding a blanket on the bed. He grabbed it and returning to the kitchen, wrapped the warm quilt around Gustave’s shoulders.

“Thank you…Raoul…” Gustave panted. As we gripped the blanket around himself, Raoul saw red burns marking his wrists. His hands had been bound tightly, and recently. Raoul’s heart leapt into his throat. “I am…so glad you’re…both here…” He gasped for breath as Philbert brought him the tea. “She…needs your…help. She’s in…danger.”

There was only one she had could possibly mean. The room fell into a heavy silence. “Tell us what happened,” Philbert finally broke the silence, his voice tense and strained.

Gustave struggled to tell his story, the tea cup shaking violently in his unsteady hands. When he explained how he had been shot by bandits in the forest, Philbert had pulled the blanket from Gustave’s wounded shoulder and studied the injury. Raoul wondered how he hadn’t noticed it sooner. After a moment of examining, Philbert shook his head. “You need a doctor. Let me go fetch one…”

The injured man grabbed his wrist before he had a chance to move. “No! Christine…is in…trouble…”

“What’s happened to her?” Raoul asked, his voice barely a whisper. "Where is she?" He knelt in front of Gustave.

Placing the tea cup awkwardly on the table, Gustave continued his story. Philbert and Raoul listened in horror as they learned of his meeting with the prince and Christine’s arrival at the palace. Gustave explained how the prince had found her, demanded she choose whether he would stay, or she would. “I tried to…convince her…to leave me…but she…was…so…stubborn.” He gave a choked, pained laugh. “My Christine…my Angel… I’ve lost her…to that…demon…we call…prince…”

Slowly, Raoul climbed to his feet. Christine was the prince’s prisoner. She was trapped in his castle, locked away in his tower, and he would never see her again. Raoul walked slowly from the kitchen and out of the house, numb. He looked up at the inky black sky as tears began to trace their way down his face. “Why didn’t you wait for me?” he whispered.

They could have gone after Gustave together. He would have protected her from the prince. He would have traded his life for hers in a heartbeat. Why couldn’t she have just trusted that he would be back before disaster could strike?

Philbert followed Raoul out of the house and took his son in his arms. It was a rare sight, Philbert hugging his children. He was a stern, unsentimental man, but he knew how and when to be gentle. “I am so very sorry, Raoul,” he whispered.

“Isn’t there any way…?”

“No,” Philbert responded, his heart heavy. He had always liked Christine. She was a sweet girl and would have made a wonderful addition to the de Chagny family. The happiness she brought Raoul and the love his son had for her had always made Philbert’s heart swell, knowing that the young de Chagny had found someone he wanted to share his life with. And now that was gone. “Even I am not powerful enough to stand up to the prince.”

“She’s gone then. Forever. I’ll never see her again.”

For a moment, Philbert paused. He considered telling Raoul not to give up, that there was still a chance that Christine would find her way home. But that would be false hope. And in his mind, there was little crueler than inspiring in an adult a false sense of faith in a future that could never be. Perhaps if Raoul had been younger, more innocent, if he had more time to grow away from Christine, he would have told him the lie. But now…the sooner he accepted the truth, the better.

As gently as he could, Philbert said, “No.”

Raoul bit his lips together and pulled out of his father’s embrace. He brushed the tears from his face and stood straighter, clearing his throat and attempting to put on a strong face. “I’ll stay with Gustave for a while. At least until he starts improving. But send a doctor. He needs medical help.”

“Thank you, Raoul,” Philbert gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile, knowing there was nothing more he could do for his son. “Try to get some rest. It’ll do you some good.”

Once his father was gone, Raoul reentered the house, heading into the kitchen where Gustave still sat. His chin rested against his chest and his eyes were closed. Raoul sighed and braced himself before lifting the older man from his seat. He carried Gustave down the hallway and into his room where he laid him down on the bed, pulling the quilt up to his chin. Gustave shivered violently. Raoul frowned and hoped the doctor would hurry.

He turned to leave, but before he could reach the door, Gustave called, “Raoul?”

“What is it, Gustave?”

“We have to…help her. No…matter the…risk. Or…the cost.”

Raoul fought back a fresh wave of tears. “Of course we will,” he told him, wanting to give the ailing father whatever small comfort he could. “I love her more than anything, Gustave. We’ll think of some way to help her.”

“Thank you…Raoul… You will be…good for…her… A wonderful…husband. You’re wedding will be…the more glorious…the world has ever seen…” A small smile touched his lips before his breathing slowed and he fell into a feverish sleep.

Raoul left Gustave’s room, shutting the door behind him. He stood with his back pressed against it for a moment before sliding to the floor. He rested his head against the door as he let the tears fall, harder and faster than they had all night. Raoul squeezed his eyes shut. “Christine… Forgive me.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential trigger warning for chapters:  
> 8, 9, 10  
> References to: sexual assault  
> Nothing detailed or excessive.   
> Only mentioned/handled briefly late in 8, early in 9 and 10.

Despite feeling beyond exhausted, Christine found herself unable to fall asleep. The thought of the mysterious music room and the staff’s strange reactions to it had her tossing and turning all night. When she eventually gave up on sleep, she started trying to formulate a plan, deciding on the best course of action.

If she wanted to find the music room, she would have to do it alone and in secret. The servants were too afraid of the prince to help her. And there was a chance they would end up turning her over to their master if they found out what she was planning. If Prince Erik were to learn of what she was about to do…she shuddered to think of how he might react. By the time the pale, dawn sunlight came filtering through the window, Christine was ready. Though she knew that in doing this, she would most likely lose the friends she had managed to make.

A short while after sunrise, there was a knock at her door. She wondered which of her friends she would be losing first. Christine buried herself under the covers and shouted, “Go away!”

From the other side of the door came an agitated sigh. “Are we going back to this again, my dear?” It was Antoinette. “I thought we had moved beyond it.”

Christine didn’t reply.

“Please, child, just come out. Things will be so much better for you if you just eat with him.”

Christine knew what she had to say to get Antoinette to leave, she had been rehearsing it all night. But it would be painful for her and unfair to the servant. Though the older woman seemed not to enjoy serving the prince any longer, Christine sensed that she still cared deeply for him. What she would say next would anger Antoinette, she was sure. She took a deep breath, preparing herself, then hissed, “I refuse to do anything with that… _monster_.”

“If you gave him half a chance, you might find he’s not as bad as you imagine!” Antoinette shouted. It seemed Christine had made the right assumption. She had risen to the bait. This was the first time the servant had raised her voice at Christine. “The prince is trying to show you kindness he has shown no one else. You should be grateful!”

“Grateful?!” Christine screamed back. “He is holding me prisoner!”

“And you could be locked in a tower cell, freezing and starving like all the others!” Antoinette paused and took a breath. When she next spoke, her voice was softer, though the anger was still present. “If you would rather spend your days miserable and alone, be my guest. But if you decide and smarten up and realize you are not as imprisoned as you believe, we’ll be in the dining hall.” Her footsteps receded down the hall.

Christine felt like she was cracking under the guilt. She hated that she had needed to speak to Antoinette like that. Antoinette who had shown her nothing more than kindness, no matter how Christine had treated her. But if she was going to do this, she needed to be alone. Now she had the opportunity to search for the music room. The prince and his servants would be at breakfast and the rest of the castle would be deserted.

She counted slowly to fifty, making sure no one else was coming for her. Especially the prince. Christine threw the blankets off, climbed to her feet, and crossed to the door. She drew it open cautiously and peeked out into the empty hall.

Her heart began to race as she walked down the hallway, heading in the opposite direction of the stairwell and the dining hall. The west wing was where she needed to go. She was headed into the most danger she had been in since arriving. The one place the prince had told her she must never visit.

For the first time since her arrival, Christine took a chance to study her surroundings. The torches were lit and crackling brightly in their sconces, making the black stone walls glisten as if they were wet and the floor was covered in a dark purple carpet. Suits of armor stood sentry along the walls, some holdings swords, some spears, some axes. They were spaced intermittently between paintings of grand hunts and large battles. Wooden doors branching off the hallway were set several feet apart. Christine wondered what was behind them, but she didn’t go in. There was no time for that now. The ceiling high above her was shrouded in darkness, arching upwards. The castle had a mysterious beauty, and though it was dark Christine could sense brightness hiding just beneath the surface. Perhaps if she weren’t a prisoner, she might have loved it here.

Ahead of her, the hallway ended. Built in the middle of the wall was a large set of double doors. The doors were charred the same color as the wall they were built into, the only doors this color she had seen in the entire castle. Her heart skipped a beat as she reached out a tentative hand and pushed one of the doors inward. Beyond the burnt entryway was another hallway that looked so different from the one she stood in that, at first, she thought she must have entered a different castle entirely.

The hall was dark. Only the torch sconces remained where the light sources had once been. Spiders had strung their webs between the ash-and-dust-covered sconces. Christine shuddered, wondering if their eight-legged occupants were still hiding somewhere within the hall. Melted, deformed suits of armor lined the hallway. Some managed to retain most of their shape, though they were still hidden under thick layers of ash and dust. The rest were almost unrecognizable as to what they had one been. The carpet that was so nice outside had been burned away, revealing a wooden floor that had also burned away in some places, revealing the ground beneath. The hallway was pitch black and filthy, and Christine wondered when it had last seen a living human.

Christine stepped through the doorway and started down the hall, leaving the blackened door open behind her. Most of the archways she passed under must have had doors once upon time, but they had been burned away completely. A short way down the hall was a large archway that must have once held a grand door. She peaked inside and saw what would have once been a beautiful ballroom.

It was in similar condition to the hallway, covered in dirt and grime from lack of cleaning and undisturbed ashes from the fire. A large window covered in so much filth absolutely no sunlight filtered in stood off to the left. There might have once been curtains, but they had burned away. Her heart sank as she imagined how terrifying it must have been for the people who had been caught in the inferno.

Christine slowly backed away from the archway, then headed further down the hall. As she continued on her way, she checked the burned-out doorways as she hunted for the music room. The farther away she got from the ballroom, the fewer missing doors there were. Instead, these were only charred, almost as if the fire had last some of its power once it had reached this point. All of the doors beyond were still open, the rooms within them completely untouched. After a moment, she reached a door that was closed. Her heart sped up. This had to be it.

Slowly, Christine reached out a hand and pushed it open.

The fire hadn’t reached this room. It was dirty but was untouched by the flames. Torn, yellowed scraps of faded sheet music covered the floor at the base of a large grand piano in the middle of the room. The instrument’s keyboard case was up. Christine was surprised to see that although the body of the piano was covered in dust, the keys still seemed clean. That interested Christine. For music being forbidden, it seemed the piano keys were still handled frequently, and with some care. The bench was also free of dust. Someone sat here regularly.

She wondered if it still worked.

Christine reached a hand out and danced her fingers over a few of the keys. The notes sounded through the room, echoing off the walls. She closed her eyes and smiled, listening to them bounce, enjoying the first sound of music she had heard since she had auditioned for _Hannibal_. Christine tried a few more keys. They were out of tune, but they were still loud and clear.

Slowly, Christine spun around the room, taking everything in carefully, not knowing if she would have the opportunity to come back. Behind her, on the wall to the left of the door, was a painting she hadn’t noticed. The picture looked out of place. The canvas and paint strokes had not been allowed to fade and the golden frame was polished, it seemed to glow even in the darkness. It was untouched by even the smallest speck of dirt or dust and the cobwebs that covered most everything else were kept far away from the painting. Christine’s eyes were drawn straight to the woman depicted in the portrait. Her breath caught in her throat and her heart began to race.

The woman’s hair cascaded over her shoulders in soft, brown curls. She had gentle brown eyes filled with life and joy. A small smile brought a light of hope to her face. Christine stared at the painting, seeing in it herself. This woman looked so much like her. But…her face was a bit longer then Christine’s, her cheeks slightly rounder. Her eyes were more circular and her hair and skin softer colors. The woman's hair was still dark to be sure, but not as much as Christine’s who had inherited some of her father’s coloring. As much as it looked like her, it looked even more like…

“Mother?” she whispered.

The pictures from her home came to her mind. The paintings of she and her mother, Emmeline, sitting and playing together. She was the same woman in this painting here. Christine thought of how many times her father told her she looked so much like her mother. And with a start, she thought of the prince’s reaction when he had first seen her. He must have mistaken her for her mother. But why? Why would he react like that for Emmeline? And why did he have this portrait of her here, in his private, off-limits room? She reached out a brushed her fingers against the woman’s face.

Why would he have wanted a portrait of her at all?

“What the hell do you think you’re doing in here?” the cold question came from behind her.

Christine’s heart stopped as the chill of his voice swept through her. She slowly turned to face the doorway. Prince Erik stood with his hands at his sides, balled into fists so tight his knuckles were bloodless. His face was contorted into a horrible fury, his green eyes filled with hatred and rage Christine had never seen before, not even from him. His cool composure had completely cracked.

“I…I was just…”

“I could have left you in that dungeon to rot, but I gave you room.” His voice was dangerously soft, but the cold fury still shot through it. “I could have fed you on scraps, but I offered you the food from my table. I could have locked you away, but I gave you freedom. In exchange I asked for one thing.” He took a step forward. “Was my request really so impossible to obey?!” he finally exploded.

The sudden change in his volume caused Christine’s knees to give out. She sank to the floor as he moved toward her, closing the gap in less time than it took to blink. Christine flinched, terrified he was going to hit her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She wished she could look away from his furious, emerald eyes, but they held her fast.

Prince Erik didn’t say a word. He just reached down and grabbed her arm with fingers like iron, yanking her to her feet. She cried out in pain, but the prince didn’t acknowledge her. He dragged her from the room, pulling her forcefully down the halls. “I ordered you away from the west wing and you went anyway. No one is allowed there. I thought I had made that clear.”

Christine felt like her arm was being pulled from its socket, and she knew she would have bruises from how tightly he was holding her. She was sobbing, but Prince Erik didn’t seem to care. “Please!” she pleaded through the tears. “You’re hurting me!” It was like she hadn’t even spoken.

He stopped for a moment and turned to face her, glaring fiercely into her eyes. "Maybe I could have forgiven that. But to go in that room... That is one thing you should  _never_ have done."

Christine was terrified. He was going to take her back to the tower and lock her in a cell. She truly would rot away they days that remained her.

But it seemed that the prince had something different in mind for her. Instead of leading her to the cells, Prince Erik brought her to the entry hall. He wrenched the door open and shoved her to the ground outside. She shook so badly she couldn’t regain her feet. He glared down at her, the same murderous anger in his eyes.

“For the love I bore Emmeline, I will spare you. If you ever show your face here again, I will not be so kind. Leave. Never came back.” He turned his back on her and reentered the palace, slamming the door behind him.

*

Never in his life had Erik been this furious. He had never felt so betrayed. After every kindness he had shown her, she defied the only thing he had truly asked of her. And she had done it so _stupidly_. That was what infuriated him the most. She could have easily escaped his notice if she hadn’t played the piano so loudly. The sounds of it echoed through the entire palace, as the halls were empty and silent and there were no doors between the castle and it. Sound _traveled_ , the stupid girl didn’t seem to understand.

He stood with his head bowed against the door, taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself. When he finally turned, he found his staff standing behind him. They all watched him, cautious and unsure of how to approach.

“My prince,” Antoinette began gently.

“Don’t you all have work to do?” he hissed, cutting her off.

Three of the four fled, looking for a way to appear busy. Antoinette remained, as she always did. Why did she disregard him like this? It annoyed him beyond expression. If not for the unrepayable debt he owed her, he would have dismissed Antoinette long ago.

“Did you not hear me?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“My prince, please listen to what I am going to tell you.” Antoinette stepped forward and took one of his hands in both of hers. Her calm, gray eyes met his fiery green ones. “I understand the child has been testing you since she arrived, and now she has done something you specifically told her not to…”

He interrupted her again. “I could understand her behavior towards me and not wanting to share my table, but this…this crosses a line. That room is…”

“Of course. And _we_ all know that. But did Christine? Did you every explicitly tell her that that room was deeply personal? Increasingly private? Did you make her understand? Did you even tell her something like that existed?”

Erik opened his mouth to respond, but then realized that Antoinette was right. He had told her the west wing wasn’t open to her, but he never told her why. And he didn’t believe he ever told her about the music room specifically. How could Christine have known that since Emmeline’s death, that room had become sacred to him, a temple? It was where he was safe to remember her and show the weakness he couldn’t dare show his staff.

His silence was all the answer Antoinette needed. “She has made you angry, and understandably so from your point of you. And mine. But her going into that room is your fault as much as it’s hers. You cannot tell someone they’re not allowed to go somewhere without reason, even if its a false one. Especially someone as inquisitive as her. She wouldn’t even have been curious if you had never mentioned it.”

Erik knew she was right but was only going to give half way. He allowed his anger to fade from him, replacing it with the numbness he had come to know all too well. “The damage is done, Antoinette. There is nothing more I am willing to do for her now.”

It was Antoinette’s turn to get angry. “If you won’t hear that, then you best hear this. You have put Christine’s life in great danger.”

He glared at Antoinette through narrowed eyes. “How could I have possibly…?”

“The bandits in the forest have become more active these last few months, and they are getting braver. Firmin told me that he’s had a few run-ins with them on his way to the village. He hates going to get supplies now because of them, even if he is armed or with someone else. Not to mention they’ve had two different people passing through in as many days. Such easy prey, they were!”

Erik didn’t respond.

“They put an arrow through an unarmed man’s shoulder, Erik. What chance do you think Christine will have against men willing to attack men and armed travelers?”

His heart skipped a beat at that. It was true that the men in the forest were starting to gain confidence. Erik himself had seen them peeking out from the trees, examining the castle for possible entry points. Erik took his hand back and turned to face the doors. A fear he hadn’t felt in years suddenly filled his chest. “If they catch her…” he whispered.

“They will kill her. If they’re feeling kind. More likely, they’ll only make her wish she was dead. They might even bring her back to their camp, share her with their friends.”

Erik couldn’t breathe. The thought of something like that happening to her… His people may have though him cruel and heartless, but he wouldn’t let anyone touch a woman like that as long as he could prevent it. He pulled the door open and called over his shoulder, “Are there still weapons kept in the stables?”

“Your father's emergency swords are there, as always,” Antoinette responded. “I’ll have a horse saddled…”

“There’s not time for that!” Erik raced from the entry hall towards the stables.

He wasn’t yet sure if this fear came from the fact that Christine looked so much like Emmeline, or out of concern for the safety of Christine herself, but at the moment it didn’t matter to him. He was not going to let anyone hurt her. Not while there was still life in his body.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning still in effect

Christine ran down the drive fast as her legs could carry her. She found Phillipe standing by the front gate, staring out through the bars towards the forest beyond. Without slowing, she threw the gate open, scrambled onto the horse’s back, and charged him through. Christine ran Phillipe as hard as she could, putting as much distance between her and the prince as possible. She pressed her face against his mane, shaking and crying with fear.

Her arm still pulsed where Prince Erik had grabbed her, and her shoulder ached from having been yanked so forcefully.

After a while of riding, Christine glanced up from Phillipe’s back and realized she wasn’t sure where she had gotten to. Everything in the forest looked the same. Even though it still had to be early morning, it was very dark under the canopy of leaves. Despite this, Phillipe moved with confidence. He seemed to know exactly where he was headed.

She slowed the horse to a walk and let him continue without her guidance. He had found his own way home from the palace before, Christine figured. She was sure he could do it again. As she watched the trees go by, it finally hit her. She was going back home. She would get to see Raoul again. She would be able to take care of her ailing father. She could accept her position at the Opera Populaire and finally begin her dream career. Everything that had been taken from her only a few days earlier had just been handed back. She was only a few hours ride away from regaining all of it. Her heart swelled, and her tears slowed. A small smile crept its away across her face.

Christine imagined the tearful reunion she would have when she rode up the drive to her small cottage. She imagined falling into Raoul’s arms, letting him sweep he off her feet the way he had the morning she had learned the fate fate that had befallen her father. Everything was going to be alright now, she told herself.

From somewhere behind her, Christine heard a twig snap loudly, cracking through the silent forest. Fear quickly washed her happy images away from her. She looked around, eyes wide, trying to find where the noise had come from. Maybe it was just an animal. A deer or something. Or maybe it was a wolf. And then the memory of her father’s ravaged cart returned to her… There were bandits in these woods. And she was unarmed and alone.

For what seemed like the hundredth time that day, Christine’s heart began to skip fearfully. If she was being followed by bandits, her only hope was outrunning them. She’d never be able to fight them off, even if she'd had a weapon. She sat up taller, brushing the tears from her cheeks as she tried to look confident, as if she knew exactly where she was and what she was doing. Perhaps if those tailing her thought she was brave, they would go in search of easier prey. She sped Phillipe up just a bit.

Christine went on uninterrupted for a while longer and started to feel about as confident as she was appearing. Perhaps her plan had worked and she had spooked away whoever might have been following her. She began to breathe heavily, a mixture of hope and nerves filling her chest, butterflies making her stomach a mess. Looking ahead, she thought she saw some sort of clearing as the trees thinned out. She kicked her heels gently into Phillipe’s sides, picking up his pace a bit more. Her heart filling with renewed hope, Christine reached the edge of the clearing. Just as she was about to pass through an opening in the wall of trees, an arrow whizzed past Phillipe’s muzzle, skimming his soft nose. Drops of scarlet hit the ground where the arrow landed.

In pain and fear, the wounded horse reared and bucked. Christine screamed as the horse kicked. Had she a saddle, she might have been able to remain on his back. But riding without one, she was thrown to the ground. She reached out a hand to catch herself. She landed hard, directly on the flat of her hand. Her shoulder popped loud enough to hear. Christine screamed again, rolling onto her back and gripping her arm in pain as tears rushed down her face. Her vision spotted and her breath came in short gasps.

It took a moment for her to realize Phillipe’s own cries had grown faint. She cleared her vision just in time to see him charging back the way they had come, leaving her behind.

“ _Phillipe_!” she screamed. “ _Come back_!”

Christine could hear people approaching her. She turned her head over her injured shoulder and immediately regretted it as a fresh wave of pain washed through her. Christine barely make out the silhouette of a man. She could see a bow in his right hand. He smiled coldly down at her. “Look at the poor little lady, all injured,” he cackled.

Fear choked off Christine’s breath. Her shoulder burned and throbbed, and it felt like the joint had moved. Tears, stars, and shadows made it near impossible to see, and she was terrified she was going to lose consciousness any moment. She thought she could see a few other figures standing behind the first. Uselessly hoping she would be able to appeal to some of the goodness there might be in him, Christine whimpered, “Please, Monsieur, my shoulder. I think it’s broken.”

“You’ll forgive me, little lady, but from where I'm standing, that's probably the least of her problems right now,” the man with the bow responded.

Christine’s hope evaporated.

“She really is pretty, isn’t she, Boss?” a second voice asked.

“Yeah, it has been a while since we’ve seen one like her,” came a third voice, just as cruel as the other two.

There were more men with the first. Christine's breath started coming in panicked bursts.

The man with the bow came closer, kneeling down next to her. “That is has…" He laughed loudly. "Looks like our luck’s finally changing, boys.” He reached down and grabbed her hair in a tight fist. He stood up and dragged her back towards the other two.

Pain evaporated into terror and adrenaline. Christine let out a primal scream, kicking and struggling. She reached up with her uninjured arm and clawed at his hand, praying for his grip to loosen even a tiny bit. If she could get just a bit of leverage... “No! Let me go! No, please!” she sobbed.

The man let go of her hair and shoved her down between the roots of the three. Before she could try to crawl  away, he sat his full weight on top of her, pinning her down. The other two men laughed, watching eagerly. Christine clawed again, this time at his face. She heard him grunt, and then chuckle. He grabbed her wrist and forced her hand to the ground. “Fiery, this one,” he commented over his shoulder.

His face was so close to hers, she could feel his hot breath on her cheeks, smell the decay on it. As he started to push up the dress of her skirt, Christine called the first name that came to mind: “Erik! Please! Save me!”

Suddenly, from behind them, one of the men began to shout. As suddenly as it had started, it was cut off. The man holding Christine turned to look over his shoulder. He cursed loudly and got up, gripping Christine by her injured arm. She screamed again as he wrenched her to her feet. The third member of the group cried out, his exclamation even shorter than the first’s. The bowman had drawn a dagger from his waist and held it to Christine’s throat as he spun her around. Christine began to cry again, but this time with relief.

It seemed God had heard her plea and had sent her savior.

The other two bandits were lying dead on the ground, blood pooling beneath them. Standing over their bodies, sword wet with scarlet, was Erik. Christine had thought she had seen the extent of his fury earlier that day, but even that paled in comparison with the pure hatred he wore now.

“Take one more step,” the man holding Christine cried in a shaking voice, “and I will kill her. I swear I will!” Christine felt the dagger dig into her skin and the trickle of blood as at ran down her neck.

Erik’s face somehow darkened further, though that had seemed impossible seconds before. “You have one chance to walk away with your pathetic, miserable life. Let…her…go,” he seethed.

The dagger inched closer to her windpipe. If Christine didn't do something, she knew she would die here, even with help so close. From deep within herself, Christine found a new strength she hadn’t known she possessed. She lifted up a foot and slammed it down on the bandit’s boot, as hard as she could. She dug her heel into his toes as he shouted in pain. For a moment, just a moment, the dagger fell from her throat. She pushed herself forward, away from the bandit, and Erik charged. Within moments he had cleared the space between them and thrust the sword through the man’s heart. He watched as Christine’s attacker fell to the ground, breathing his last.

She had fallen, thankfully on her uninjured side, her throbbing arm pressed against her abdomen. Her stomach roiled violently and for a moment, her vision completely failed her. Christine heard Erik sheath his sword. Then he was beside her, taking her into his arms. For a moment she lay there, stunned. And once the gravity of it all hit her, she sobbed, burying her face in his chest.

“Tell me I wasn’t too late,” he whispered, holding her tenderly.

Christine shook her head, unable to speak through the tears.

“Thank God.” His voice was tight.

He put one hand under her legs and the other around her shoulders, being as careful as he could when he felt the dislocation. He lifted Christine in his strong arms, standing slowly. Erik put her carefully on the back of a large black stallion, sidesaddle, then climbed up behind her.

Christine fell against him, resting her cheek against his chest. He kept his arms around her, taking the horse’s reins. “Home, Cesar,” he ordered. The stallion started forward at an easy canter. It wasn’t long before the rocking of the horse and the warm, safe feeling of being pressed against Erik lulled Christine into an uneasy sleep.

*

Arrived back at the palace, Erik slid from Cesar’s back and brought Christine down, cradling her against his chest. The fury he had felt had faded during the ride as the sound of Christine’s steady breathing soothed him. He carried up the front stairs and found the door still open. Antoinette was waiting where he had left her.

“Oh, Lord,” the old servant hissed when she saw the unconscious Christine in his arms.

“Get a fire started and bring me blankets, water, and bandages,” he ordered without looking at her. Antoinette raced from the room to do as he had asked.

Erik brought to girl to the front parlor and sat her down in his high-backed chair. He looked closely at the cut on her throat, though it was thankfully no more than a nick and not near anything important. It had already stopped bleeding. He turned his attention to the injury he was most concerned about – he had felt the deformation in her shoulder and knew it had been dislocated. Antoinette and he were more than capable of resetting it, but it was going to be painful and the recovery might prove difficult for Christine.

Shame and anger at himself buzzed within him. If he hadn’t thrown her out like that, this would never have happened. He had failed to protect her. Still asleep, Christine began to shiver violently.

Antoinette came running back into the room, bringing Firmin with her. He went straight to the fireplace and started placing kindling. Within moments, a fire was crackling joyfully, blissfully unaware of the terror one of its users had just experienced. Firmin glanced fearfully at Christine but said nothing as he left. Antoinette came to Erik with a bowl of steaming water, washcloths, and a large pile of quilts. Erik took a blanket from the stack and placed it over Christine’s lap. “Antoinette, her shoulder.”

“It’s dislocated,” she reaffirmed what he had already known. “Looks like she fell, landed on it wrong…” She paused a moment before asking what she most dreaded. “Erik, did they…?”

“No,” was his short reply. When he had arrived, it appeared they hadn’t had time to touch her and Christine had told him as much when he had asked. He brushed a stand of chocolate brown hair away from her face. “But if I had been just a moment slower…”

“You _weren’t_.” Antoinette placed a hand on his shoulder. “She is safe now. They didn’t hurt her there, and they won’t have the chance here.”

“Or ever again.” His eyes burned. “I killed them all.”

Antoinette didn’t respond, but she tightened her grip on Erik’s shoulder.

“Erik…?” Christine’s eyes fluttered open, shining with fresh tears. She gasped. “Oh, God, Erik…it hurts.” She reached for her dislocated shoulder.

He took her hand gently and pulled it away, not wanting her to hurt herself more accidentally. His heart burned seeing her in so much pain. Erik buried his anger, not wanting to upset her anymore. “It’s going to be alright. Antoinette and I are going to help you. We need you to lay flat on the ground, alright?”

Christine nodded, taking a deep breath. Erik repositioned himself and helped her move from the couch to the floor. She carefully slid into a laying position, keeping a tight grip on his hand and her back resting against him as she lowered herself. Antoinette knelt down beside them, adjusting Christine’s injured arm to the best angle. Even this small movement made Christine whimper. Erik closed his eyes and took a breath. “It’s going to hurt for us to fix it, Christine, but we’ll do it as quick as we can.”

She met his gaze evenly. “I trust you,” she whispered. Her grip on his fingers tightened. Christine didn’t look away from him as Antoinette prepared herself.

Erik wiped away a tear as it traced its way down her face, cupping her cheek gently. “Just look at me,” he told her.

Antoinette looked to Erik for confirmation, and without breaking eye contact with Christine he nodded. The servant braced herself, and as quickly as she could, moved the shoulder. There was a pop as it went back into place that made Christine begin sobbing again. Erik brushed her hair back from her forehead, wishing there was more he could do to take away her pain. He cursed himself for causing her this.

The three remained where they were until Christine’s cries subsided, becoming sniffles. “Do you want to sit up?” Erik asked her after a while.

She nodded her response and Erik placed an arm around her shoulders again. “Try not to move your arm, Christine. It will take some time for it to heal,” he instructed as they readjusted her into a sitting position.

Beside them, Antoinette had taken a spare bit of cloth she had brought and fashioned a sling. “This will help ensure you don’t hurt yourself by accident, dear one. Wear it like this…” the servant helped the young girl put it on, careful not to jerk her shoulder. Once it was in place, Antoinette stood. “I will leave you, my prince.” She bowed. “I am glad you are safe, my dear,” she smiled gently.

Christine sat with her back against the chair, her eyes closed again. Erik sat with her, maintaining the silence. He wondered if she had fallen asleep again. Lord knew she was going to need plenty of rest. As Erik watched over her, he noticed the angry red nick on her throat. He had almost forgotten.

The basin of water was on the floor beside the blankets. He took a cloth that had been resting in the water and dabbed at the small cut. The sudden contact made Christine jump and her eyes shot open, wide and fearful. Erik pulled away quickly, giving her space. She sat upright and rigid.

“I’m sorry,” Erik apologized. “I should have said something. I just wasn’t sure if you were sleeping…”

“No…no…it’s alright,” Christine panted. She reclined back against the chair, closing her eyes again. “I’m just so…”

“You don’t need to explain. I understand.”

He went back to cleaning the small injury. For a while, he worked in silence, trying to think of what he was going to say, how he was going to tell her what he so needed to tell her. When he had finally decided on how the phrase it he opened his mouth.

At the same time, the pair said, “I just wanted to…”

Their gazes met, and Christine smiled awkwardly. It was nice to see her smiling. And a surprise, all things considered. Erik cleared his throat. “Go ahead.”

“I just wanted to apologize for…” she hesitated. “For going in…there. I knew I shouldn’t have. That you’d be angry. But it was…I was…I didn’t think you would be so…”

 _Scary,_ Erik finished. _I terrified you._ Erik took the cloth away and sighed. “You don’t need to be sorry, Christine. In fact, it should be me apologizing to you. I should have been honest with you from the start. I was only asking for trouble with the way I handled it… And my reaction to you being there was...completely unreasonable. I beg that you forgive me for putting you in so much danger.”

Christine looked deep into his eyes. “You saved me. You came after me. You could have left me out there, forgotten about me. But you didn’t…" She was quite for a moment. "The people are wrong about you. You aren’t really a monster.” The two sat in silence for a while longer. “Why did you come for me?” she whispered.

Erik hesitated. “I was scared for you,” he whispered at last. “Antoinette calmed me down. Reminded me of the dangers out there. And I was…terrified. Like I haven’t been in years.”

“Is it because of her? Because I look like here?”

They both knew who she was asking about. In fact, he had had the same thought before he had left. Was it for Christine’s sake? Or Emmeline’s? As he had been riding, he had thought it was because of Emmeline but when he had found her, through all of tonight, not once had he thought about the other woman. He had only thought of Christine. Only seen her _as_ Christine. Christine was in danger, not a woman who looked like someone else. And even now, as he looked at her, he knew it hadn’t been because of Emmeline.

“No,” he answered with sincerity. “It was because of you.” He could see in her eyes that she didn’t believe him. Erik wondered how he could prove it to her… There was no way of doing it now, not tonight. But he would think of something, he was sure.

Christine brushed her shoulder and winced. “It still hurts,” she told him.

“It will for a while. But as long as your careful, it will eventually stop.”

“How can you be…” she was cut off by a large yawn.

“You’re exhausted. Let me bring you to your room so you can lay down.”

Christine nodded gratefully. Erik took her good arm and her waist in his hands and slowly helped her climb to her feet. She leaned heavily against him, but when he tried to carry her, she told him, “It’s alright. I can walk.”

Thinking back to how she had fought against her attacker, he remember how even when she had had his knife at her throat and had been so close to death, she had risked everything to give Erik his opening. He thought of how exhausted and burned out she must be now but refused to let him help her beyond guiding her up the stairs. Erik suddenly realized that Christine might be one of the strongest people he had ever met.

Together, the two walked up the stairs into the large room he had given her. Erik took a hand back to pull away the blankets. She sat on the edge of the bed before slowly adjusting herself to lay down. He pulled the blankets up to her chin.

“If you need anything, just call. I’ll make sure Antoinette is close enough to hear.”

He turned to leave, but before he reached the door her heard her whisper, “Erik?”

He stopped short, noting that she had used his name for one of the first times. Turning, he saw that her eyes were wide and fearful, her face pale.

His eyes narrowed slightly with concern. “What’s wrong?” He crossed back to her, kneeling at her bedside.

“Will you…will you stay? At least until I fall asleep? I don’t want to be alone.”

Without hesitating, Erik went to grab the chair from the vanity. He pulled it next to the bed and sat down beside her. “I’ll stay as long as you want me.”

The look of relief on her face made his heart swell with joy. “Thank you.” She lapsed into silence and then said, “My father’s horse. He was hurt and ran back this way. He could be…”

“Hush, Christine,” Erik reassured her. “I’ll have the servants go searching for him later. I’m sure he can’t have gone far.”

She gave him a grateful, albeit weak and tired, smile. He gazed across the room to the window, frowning as the bright light of the morning poured in through the panes. As the day wore on, it would only get brighter in here, making it hard for Christine to rest. “If it’s too light, I can draw the curtains…” he offered.

But when he looked back to her for an answer, he saw that her face and taken on a mask of serenity that only sleep could give. And as he studied her peaceful features, Prince Erik smiled for the first time in years.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning - final chapter

The bandit grinned over her as he pushed her skirt up. He was on top of her, holding her down, laughing evilly as she cried in fear, pitifully struggling to escape him. His hand pressed down hard against her dislocated shoulder, sending spears of pain shooting up and down her arm. Christine thrashed wildly, trying to throw the man off her, but it was no use. She was powerless to stop him. Crying fiercely, she screamed for help. The bandit laughed at her, cruel and hateful.

“Erik! Please, Erik! Save me, please!”

Christine felt her body shift, and then world she was trapped in began to fade. The forest disappeared, the bandit and his vile laugh was gone. All that remained now was the pain in her shoulder. She was lying on a soft bed, tangled in heavy blankets. Hovering over her was the concerned face of the prince, as he forced her into a sitting position. When he saw her eyes had opened, he sighed in relief. “Thank God,” he whispered. “You were screaming for me, and I couldn’t wake you. I thought sitting you up might help… Thank God,” he said again.

The fear of the dream and the relief that that was all it had been was still so fresh. The pain in her shoulder was so poignant, Christine began to sob.

Beneath her, the bed sagged. Erik sat beside her, pulling her into his arms and holding her to his chest. Christine rolled against him, clinging to his suit jacket, crying heavily into his chest. He rested his chin on the top of her head, enfolding her completely and holding her securely. “It’s alright, Christine,” he reassured. “It was just a dream. You’re safe now. I promise.”

It took several minutes before Christine’s sobs dissolved into sniffling. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry…” she whispered into Erik.

“You have nothing to apologize for. You’ve been through something terrible. Don’t be ashamed for being afraid. Are you alright now?”

Christine nodded. “I think…I think I’m okay…”

He took his arms from around her and pushed off the bed, going back to his chair. “I’ll still be here, Christine. In case you need me.” Erik watched her as she slid carefully onto her back, her bad shoulder resting against the mattress.

She tried closing her eyes, but the face of the bandit kept swimming up behind her eyelids, so clear he could have been in the room with her. Her pulse quickened, afraid again. Christine heard Erik shift in the seat beside her, and her heart calmed. How interesting it was that only a few hours ago, there was little she feared more in this world than the prince. And now, his presence was the one thing keeping her calm.

“Erik?” Christine whispered, opening her eyes again. The sky outside the window across from her was a pale orange, the sun setting behind the horizon.

“What is it?”

“Sometimes, when I had a nightmare, my father used to sing to me. It would help me relax and I was wondering…”

“I can’t, Christine,” he interrupted. “I can sit with you, speak to you, hold you if you need. But music…singing…” His voice filled with pain. “It hurts too much. Reminds me of…everything I had lost.” He was silent for a moment. “Forgive me.”

“It’s alright. It was a silly request anyway,” Christine responded sadly. A part of her had known what his answer was going to be, but she had been foolishly optimistic that she would be able to sway him.

“Just try and rest a bit more. You’re still exhausted.”

She closed her eyes again, seeing the face of the bandit once more. Even if in the waking light that monster was dead, he was still waiting for her in the dark of her dreams. Her lower lip quivered, and a tear fell down her cheek. She felt Erik’s thumb brush it away.

“You are safe Christine, I promise. No one can hurt you here.” When he heard her still sniffling, he sighed. “Do you want me next to you again? Or will that be too much for you?”

“Come back,” she whispered.

Erik got up from the chair and moved back to the bed. He lay down next to her, positioning himself so she could rest her head on his chest. He brushed a hand through her hair. “If I ever make you feel uncomfortable, tell me. I don’t want to scare you anymore than you already have been.”

“No, this…helps,” Christine whimpered.

Christine curled as close as she could, feeling herself shivering against him. She was wondering how she was ever going to sleep again when she heard Erik humming in her ear. Her shaking slowed as the hauntingly beautiful tune found its way into her imagination, filling her mind with colors that chased away the visions of the bandits. The next thing she knew, she had drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

*

Erik didn’t realize he had fallen asleep until he found himself waking up to Christine crying out once more. His eyes shot open. He saw her sitting upright, clutching her shoulder, tears in her eyes. Erik’s heart broke seeing her in pain he couldn’t immediately cure, and his eyebrows creased. “Are you alright?”

Christine was smiling sheepishly at him. “It wasn’t hurting when I woke up and I moved too quickly,” she admitted.

“Do you need me to check it?”

“No, it’s still where it needs to be. It just…” She breathed deeply, blinking away the tears. “Hurts a bit… You were asleep when I woke up. I’m happy you managed to get some rest.”

Erik slid out of the bed and stretched. He gazed out into the light morning sun that streamed through the window. They had made it through the night, it seemed. Erik found his gaze being drawn to the dark forest. It somehow managed to appear less menacing in the light of day, but the memory of what had happened there made Erik’s blood race with renewed rage. If he ever got the chance, he would have every tree torn down until every last bandit hiding in them had been found and hanged. He turned back to Christine who was also staring out the window, her eyes wide as she looked at the forest. Her face was pale.

“It’s over, Christine,” he told her. “I know you are still scared, but I swear to you that what happened yesterday will never happen again.” He crossed back to the bed. “You’ll make your peace in your own time, but I will tell you this every day you need me to. Until you feel safe again.”

She tore her eyes away and turned her face to look at him. “How can you be the same man I met a few days ago? You are so much kinder then he was… Antoinette was right. I just needed to give you a chance.”

“Christine…”

“Do you think I could get up?” she continued, moving past the tender moment. “I can’t stand laying down any longer and I’m getting hungry.”

“If you think you’re ready.” Erik pulled back the blankets. He held his hand out to her, but she shook her head.

“I can do this.” She inched her way to the side of the bed and placed her feet on the floor. Christine took a deep breath and pushed herself into a standing position. As she stood to her full height, she stumbled forward. Erik put his hand around her waist before she could fall. “I’m alright. Just a little lightheaded. I’m alright.”

Christine tried to brush off his help again, but this time Erik insisted. “You are incredibly strong, Christine, but you don’t need to do it all by yourself today.”

“You’ve done so much for me already,” she replied, looking at him helplessly.

Erik shook his head. “I have done barely enough. Let me help you.”

The two shared an even gaze, and Erik thought for a moment she was going to demand he leave her to do it herself. He worried that she would end up falling and hurting herself even worse. But then she nodded. “It is a long way to the dining hall, isn’t it?”

Erik held her against him, serving as her balance so she wouldn’t trip. He led her from the room and down the stairwell to the dining hall where the long table had already been set for breakfast. Antoinette, Meg, André, and Firmin stood in their respective places, bowing their heads as the pair entered. Erik led her to the chair closest to his, pulled it out, and helped her sit. He went to his place as Antoinette came forward to help Christine.

“We are all so relieved that you’re alright,” she told Christine with a motherly smile.

Once the girl's plate was loaded with all she asked for, Antoinette turned to Erik for instruction. “You can leave for now. I’ll find you if I have need of you.” They filed out of the room, leaving the two to have breakfast together. Erik marveled at the chain of events that had led to this moment. “I suppose we should discuss a few things, then.”

“Such as?” she asked as she started to pick at her breakfast.

“Where we stand with each other, the two of us. Things have…changed since the day we met.”

Christine stared, empty-eyed at her plate. “That’s true. We haven’t exactly been friendly with one another…”

“I was horrible to you.”

“I wasn’t really much better.”

“You spoke truthfully, in all of it, though. You acted exactly as I deserved. I was unbelievably…” he hesitated.

“Cruel,” Christine finished. She met his gaze evenly, still so proud, still so strong. After a moment of silence, Christine cleared her throat. “Perhaps we could…start again? All things considered, there are worse options then a second chance.”

Erik gave her a smile so small, it could hardly be counted as a smile. His heart raced. Was she really willing to give him the chance to make up for his past behavior? “If…if you would like to.”

“Well then.” Christine gave him a mischievous grin as she got to her feet. She gave a curtsy, quite balanced considering she hadn’t been able to walk down the stairs a few moments ago. “Hello, my prince. My name is Christine Daaé.”

Erik stood as well, taking her free hand in his right. He bowed his head and kissed the back of her hand. “Enchanté, Mademoiselle Daaé. Please, call me Erik.”

“As you wish, Erik. As long as you agree to call me Christine.” She was blushing.

“Is this too much?” he asked, nervous.

“No. I like it, actually. I never thought I'd see you act so...princely.” She smiled brighter than he had ever seen.

It was as he looked at the large, happy smile he realized that he hadn’t seen her as Emmeline since the moment he had first laid eyes on her. He had only seen her as Christine. Christine had long since left the other woman's shadow and had done so quickly. But if that was the case, if she wasn't now reminding him of his lost love, why was his heart racing in this familiar, painful way?

“You should smile more, Christine. It suits you.”

“As should you.” Her gaze softened.

It was only then he realized that he, too, was grinning. Quite like a fool, he felt. They both retook their seats.

“Tell me about yourself, my dear.”

“There’s really not all that much to tell,” Christine blushed.

Erik shook his head. “I don’t believe that for a moment. I’d bet there’s a lot more to the young Christine Daaé than she lets on.” When she still hesitated, Erik encouraged, “Start from the beginning. You’ll see how much there is to say once you start, I promise.”

“Well…I was born and raised in a small hut at the very far edge of the village by my father, Gustave. My parents divorced a few years after I was born, but it was a very clean break. He only ever wanted the best for her, wanted her to be happy. And he knew she needed more than he could give her to be happy. She loved him, of course, but…” Christine paused. “She still came around every so often, at least until she died…" She thought for a moment. "I have a childhood friend, Raoul de Chagny. His father practically runs the village, and his family is obscenely rich.” She laughed, light and lilting. Her face took on a plaintive look. “Raoul means the world to me. He was planning on asking me to marry him before I came here. He's such a handsome young man…”

Erik had listened to all of this carefully, drinking up all the information he could learn. He wanted so badly to know about Christine, to understand where she had come from. But at the mention of this Raoul, an uneasy feeling crept into Erik’s heart. “Would you have said yes, had you the chance?” he asked.

“In a heartbeat…” Christine stopped as an awkward feeling filled the air. “M-maybe you could tell me about yourself, Erik. But only as much as you’re willing.”

Erik looked down at his empty plate. He hadn’t been very hungry this morning and found that now he had no appetite at all. “I’m afraid very little of my story is a happy one, at least in recent years. I don’t think about my life before…it’s too painful remembering my parents…and Emmeline. I lost them all to the fire. I would’ve died that night too, if not for Antoinette. I think she came looking for me, pulled from the room before it could kill me.” He reached up and touched his white half-mask. “I did get this as a token to remember that night by. A scar that will never heal… Perhaps it would have been better if I _had_ been lost.”

Christine was watching him sadly. He knew it would have been better for her had he perished along with his family. She would never have faced the horrors she had if not for him. She could have stayed in her village, been safe with her father and her soon-to-be fiancé. How happy she would have been. But thanks to him, she had known the greatest terror of her life. Erik’s heart broke as he thought of all of the suffering he had caused.

“It’s fascinating, isn’t it?” he chuckled darkly, fury at the distant memory of the fire filling him once more. “How much damage a single clumsy party-goer can cause? Knocked over a few candles the world was I knew it ended… I never found out who did it, but I blame them all. I hate them all. They took it all from me.”

“Do you really think that way?” Christine whispered.

Erik paused, unable to meet her gaze. They sat quietly for a while as Erik realized he had said more than he had wanted to. He turned her question over in his mind. At last he responded. “No. It wasn’t their fault. Not my parents, not the people who I have blamed and punished for so many years…” His eyes burned. “It was mine.”

“What?” she gasped.

And suddenly, years or anger, years of guilt and pain, came pouring out, unrestrained and pure. “I should have gone to my parents, told them I had found the one. Told them I wanted to be alone with her, that it was time for the others to go. I could have seen her sooner, known her sooner. Not waited until the end of the evening... I could have sent her away when I knew there was danger. I could have saved her! I led her into danger and I killed her!”

He was shouting, he realized, and there were tears running down his cheek. So many things he had buried, that he had never allowed to be heard or thought. All of it was out in the open now, and he couldn’t take it back.

Christine was in front of him. She pulled him against her, her hand cupped around the back of his head as she held him close to her. He returned her embrace clinging to the back of her dress as he calmed herself. From above him, he heard her whisper, “I loved her, too.”

“Forgive me, my lady,” Erik pulled away, rubbing his face and sniffing.

She knelt down in front of him, her eyes filled with something Erik hadn’t seen from another person in years. Kindness.

She placed her hand on his knee. “I think…I think you’re looking to place blame where there is none to place. What happened…it was horrible and tragic and painful. And it has given wounds that will never heal. But it wasn’t anyone’s fault. Not some person who knocked something over. And not yours. Not. Yours.”

“Why…? How…? How can you look at someone like me the way you are? I’ve caused so much suffering, so much pain. I have been so selfish. And this aren't things I've done just to you. How can you be so…kind?” he panted. “Because I protected you once? Christine, I caused it to happen! As I have caused everything else that has hurt or scared you! But you…”

Christine put her fingers to his lips, cutting him off. “I won't lie to you. There is a part of me that still fears you, Erik. I grew up these last few years on the stories and the myths. I have seen the darkness and fury in you. But…I’ve also seen you have so much good buried underneath. You have been so gentle and caring these last few hours. And I know you are capable of so much more.” She smiled. "You're kind of like this palace. Dark and imposing on the outside, but hidden deep within its walls there is something...beautiful."

As he stared at Christine, it hit him how wonderful this girl truly was. Her soul was unlike any other he had ever met. She seemed to have forgiven him everything. She had seen in him something he had thought had died. And as she placed her hand gently on the side of his face, his heart soared. He didn’t deserve to be in the presence of a woman like her, but he had the blessing all the same. Erik didn’t intend to let this opportunity slip him by.

“I will be better to you, Christine,” he swore, placing his hand over hers. “I will make this palace more of a home than any you’ve ever known.”

Christine smiled across from him. “I know you will,” she whispered.

Later on, as she slowly made her own way back to her room, Erik standing in the hallway watching her, her began formulating a plan to repair all of the damage he had done to her.


	11. Chapter 11

Antoinette sat at the desk in her room in the servant’s quarters, reading over a supplies list she had had André and Firmin draw up. They were running low on some essential items. She made a note to send the pair together into the village to speak with their supplier. They would need him to stop by sooner this month, and with a bit more. She increased the numbers to accommodate Christine. Thankfully, the supplier was a man of few words and little curiosity. This sudden uptick in requirement wouldn't be question. He would need to be made aware of the bandit activity increase, however, especially considering recent events. Antoinette sighed. How complicated things had become over the last few days.

“Is everything alright, Mother?” Meg looked up from the book she had sitting in her lap.

Looking over the list and her notes one more time, Antoinette stood and crossed to her daughter. While she wasn’t sure what Christine had told Meg on her first evening, she was very grateful to the girl for it. She hadn’t seen a trace of the heartbreak and desperation Meg had been feeling since the arrival of Christine's father, something Antoinette hadn’t been sure would ever happen in the aftermath. “Everything’s fine, love. But I need you to take this to the other two. Make sure they read over everything carefully and do what’s asked to the letter, alright?”

“Of course, Mother.” She closed her book and got to her feet, taking the sheets gently. “I’ll be back shortly.” Meg went to the door and drew it open, gasping in surprise and bowing her head after she did so. “Prince Erik!” she gasped. “How can I be of service?”

Antoinette glanced over and saw him standing in the hallway, awkward and unsure of how her should respond. “Do you need something of me, my prince?” she called.

“Yes,” Erik cleared his throat, “I do.” He wove around Meg to enter the small quarters.

“I’m going to go deliver these,” the blonde girl spoke.

As she stepped into the hallway, the prince called, “I’m sorry, Meg. For the way I have behaved these last few days. If there’s any way I can make it up to you, just let me know.”

Meg’s pale face went beet red. She stammered an uneasy thanks, then spun and ran off down the hallway. Antoinette hoped she didn’t lose any of those papers in her rush. They all had important information in them she needed Firmin and André to know. Antoinette returned to her desk, taking a seat and studying the prince standing in the middle of the room.

“Close the door and take a seat.” She gestured to one of the two small beds that occupied most of the room. Erik did as she said and continued to sit in silence. Antoinette drummed her fingers on the desk, patience waning. There was still much she needed to do today and sitting here as he framed his thoughts was a waste of her time. “My prince, you told me you needed something from me?” she prodded after an extensive quiet.

“I want to do something for her.”

“For…?”

“For Christine,” Erik clarified.

He leaned forward and told Antoinette everything that had passed between the two during their breakfast. Antoinette listened, stone-faced, her eyes narrowed. She felt something deep in her chest that bordered on concern as Erik explained, seeing in him the same signs she had seen when he had first met Emmeline.

“So you want to show her some small kindness? Like she has shown you?” the servant clarified once Erik had finished his story.

“Yes, something like that.”

Antoinette sat back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest. “Erik, I need you to be sure…”

“You’re worried that I’m doing this because I loved Emmeline. That I am having Christine open herself up to me to be hurt because I only see in her the other woman.”

It wasn’t a question. He knew exactly what Antoinette had feared, maybe because he himself had had the same thoughts. She didn’t respond, instead keeping her piercing gaze locked on her prince.

He sighed, got to his feet, and started to pace. “When I went after her yesterday, I thought that might be the case as well. But, Antoinette,” he stopped directly in front of her, placed his hands on the desk, and leaned in close, “that isn’t what this is. I want to do this for her. And as many times as I must tell you that, I will.”

Antoinette looked deep into him, trying sense a shred of dishonesty. But there was none there. Whatever pieces of Emmeline he had been clinging to through Christine, he seemed to have given those up and was instead holding onto the girl herself. Still, Antoinette worried. Though Christine had made strides in trusting him today, Antoinette feared the prince was setting himself up for heartbreak. She could see the girl's small acts of kindness had had a profound impact on him, and that he was experiencing powerful feelings for her.

The old servant doubted the girl would reciprocate them. Whether or not the pair could maintain even a stable friendship was in question, given the circumstances of their current relationship, not to mention the breakneck pace which with things had drastically shifted between them. Only a day ago had the pair been unable to stand each other. Antoinette considered turning him away, telling him he should try and keep his distance to avoid any potential pain or awkwardness for both him and the girl.

But she saw something else in him. Something she had begun to believe had been burned out of him by the fire. It was…light. Hope, trust, even joy. There was a life in him that he had been missing for years. Maybe encouraging these emotions in him even if they turned out unrequited was a dangerous game. Antoinette could risk hardening him further, truly losing him forever to the horrible, cruel man he had become. But there was a seed of change here and she wanted to see if she could foster and mature it. Would their lives truly be worse if there was even a slight chance of reawakening the kind child Antoinette had watched grow?

Throughout all of her quiet thoughts, the prince waited patiently. At last, Antoinette sighed. “What do you need us to do?”

“I need there to be light in the castle again. Not torchlight. Sunlight. I want every window uncovered and cleaned completely. I don’t want to see a single torch lit until the sun goes down in the evenings. We’re chasing the darkness out and making this a place someone would actually want to live. Take André and Firmin and get the windows on the ground floor first, working from the entry hall in.”

“André and Firmin will need to make a supply run…”

“Can it wait a bit longer?” Erik pleaded.

Antoinette studied his face carefully, then shook her head. “I suppose it can, but only for today. I’ll pass the order along right away. What do you want us to do with her for now?”

“She should still be resting upstairs. Have Meg nearby in case she needs anything, but I don’t want her disturbed otherwise.” He turned for the door. “This is only the beginning of a long list of changes I am going to be making around here. I’ll be back to help as soon as I can.”

“You’re going somewhere?” Antoinette questioned.

“It seems her father’s horse was injured when the bandits attacked. They spooked him, and Christine said he ran back this way. I’m going to go find him.”

“You’re going to search through that forest? Alone? For a lost horse?” she asked, incredulous. It was a fool’s errand at best. Who knows where the creature could have gotten to be now? If Christine really needed another horse, Antoinette had access to a wonderful breeder.

“She loves that horse, Antoinette. And I promised her I’d find him.”

Antoinette shook her head. “I think this is ridiculous, but I doubt I can stop you. Just be careful. I’m sure you’ve made quite a few enemies of the bandits in those trees.”

“I’m not afraid of them,” Erik hissed. She could see the hatred burning in him.

“I know you’re not. Which is why I’m telling you.” Antoinette stood and went to Erik’s side, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Caution in all things, especially when fear is no longer a factor.” She smiled at him. “The entry hall will be finished before you return.”

“Thank you,” he told her sincerely.

The pair exited the room together before breaking apart, Antoinette headed deeper into the servant’s quarters in search of her three companions and Erik up the stairs towards the entry hall in search of Christine’s missing horse.

*

Christine wished beyond anything that Erik had come with her back to her room. She knew she wouldn’t feel comfortable without him beside her, at least not for a while. But he had seemed to have something on his mind, and she didn’t want to distract him. What she had said about still fearing him was true. The memory of his fury and the mark on her arm from where he had grabbed her were still to fresh to be so easily forgotten. But that part of her was small now, and it continued to shrink the more she thought of him. How fast her mind had started to change about him. About all of them.

Upon returning to her room, she had tried resting. Christine and lain in bed for several minutes but had found it impossible to get comfortable. Giving up on that idea, she had moved to the vanity. She sat there for what felt an eternity, staring at her rat’s nest hair, wondering how in the world she was going to fix it with her arm still in its sling. Christine frowned at her reflection. Perhaps one of the servants was nearby and could help her.

She got up from her seat and walked swiftly to the door, drawing it open. She barely stifled a scream as she came face-to-face with Meg, standing right outside, her arm raised ready to knock. “Oh, I’m sorry, Christine! I didn’t mean to scare you! I was just coming to offer you my services. I know the prince said he didn’t want you disturbed, but I thought you might like some company…”

“No, it’s alright,” Christine laughed breathlessly. Meg, she told herself. It's just Meg. You're safe here, Christine. Just try and relax. “I was actually just coming to look for someone. My hair is a bit…awful. And with my arm, I can’t really do much about it.”

Meg’s face brightened. “I would love to help!” she exclaimed. “But first, would you like to clean yourself up a bit? I can draw you a hot bath?”

Christine sighed happily at the thought. “Yes, please.”

“Perfect. Come with me.” She took Christine’s good hand and led her back down the hall to a room Christine hadn’t visited before. Meg pushed the door open and brought her inside.

This room was so different from the ones she had become accustomed to, it almost blinded her. The floor was white mosaic tile, and the walls paneled with pale yellow paper. There were torches alongside a porcelain white tub that was empty. Beside that were buckets, waiting to be filled. Meg went to a portion of the wall covered in heavy black drapes and drew them back. A large window filtered in sunlight through dirty panes.

"Pardon the state of the window. I’ll have them cleaned so this room is more pleasant for you to use." Meg grinned.

"This room is so..."

"Bright?" Meg giggled. "I know. You'd be surprised how many light rooms there are in this palace. It's hard to believe, I know. But they're there." She strode over to the bucket and picked it up. “There’s a place right down the hall I can get some water heated for you. Just wait here and I’ll have a bath ready to go in no time.” Meg took the bucket from the room, wearing a large smile.

Christine watched her go, feeling a strange sense that things at the palace and changed drastically in just a few short moments. She thought back to Erik’s promise, and wondered in awe if he was already turning things around for her.

She stood patiently waiting as Meg came and went, filling the bathtub with steaming hot water faster than Christine would've thought the frail-looking girl could have managed. Once it was full, she asked, “Do you want help undress?”

A hot blush flooded Christine’s cheeks. “I think I may need it, honestly.”

“I’ll make it quick and leave you to your time.”

Meg smiled at Christine and helped the girl out of her dress and undershirt. She removed the sling as well, giving strict instructions to move her arm as little as possible. Once Christine was sitting safely in the tub, Meg took her clothes and said, “I’ll get these washed for you, so you can wear them again when you’re done. Take all the time. There is absolutely no rush.”

“Thank you for your help, Meg,” Christine told her sincerely.

She hadn’t realized until this moment just how filthy she had felt. As she soaked in the hot water, Christine tried not to think about how long it had been since she had last cleaned herself. She rested her neck against the edge of the bath and closed her eyes, enjoying the soothing warmth. Christine soaked a bit longer before dunking her head gentle beneath the surface, wetting her tangled hair. When she resurfaced, she raked her fingers through, trying to free up the worst of the knots. Sitting on a silver tray behind the tub was a white bar of soap that Christine took to scrub herself with.

As she was putting the bar back, Meg returned. Christine’s dress and shirt were draped over her arm, cleaned and pressed. She had also brought a towel, which she draped over a counter placed beside the tub. “When you’re ready, call for me and I'll come help you.” She turned and left the room again, keeping the door slightly ajar behind her.

Christine sat in the bath until the warmth had seeped out of the water. Once it bored from lukewarm to cold she called, "I'm ready now!"

Meg came back into the room, stretching out the fluffy towel. "Go carefully," she told Christine, watching as she climbed slowly from the tub. "The floor can be slick, and Prince Erik might kill me if you get hurt under his roof." She said it with a smile, but there was a flash of fear in her eyes as she wrapped Christine in the towel and helped her dry and then dress herself.

They returned to Christine’s room and Meg sat her at the vanity. She took a brush from a drawer and started pulling it through Christine’s chocolate hair, being gentle with the harsher knots. She chatted endlessly as she worked, her chipper mood slowly infecting Christine. As Meg finished up, there was a knock at the bedroom door. “Come in,” Christine called.

Behind them, the door opened to reveal Antoinette in the hallway. “I came a few moments earlier, but you must have still been bathing."

"Did I take too long?" she asked, concerned.

"Of course not. You look refreshed, my dear,” she smiled warmly. “I only came to see if you were willing. The prince would like to see you.”

“Of course.” Butterflies filled Christine's stomach as stood and went to Antoinette, Meg following just behind. She wondered what he could want with her? It was as they reached the stairwell Christine realized she was more excited at the prospect of seeing Erik again than afraid.

As Antoinette led the girls down the stairs she said, “Meg, you are going to assist André and Firmin in the sitting room. I will join you shortly. You know what needs to be done?”

“Of course, mother,” Meg responded respectfully.

Christine wondered what Antoinette meant by that, but when they reached the bottom floor, she had he answer. Christine’s mouth fell open. It was as if she had arrived in a whole new place!

Built into the walls evenly spaced were large windows she hadn’t seen before. The drapes that had hidden them were neatly folded on the floor in the corner, waiting to be put away. Their panes were clean and bright afternoon sunlight shone in the hall in such a way as Christine could have never imagined. It seemed Christine had been right. The palace did have a secret beauty hiding beneath the darkness. Meg said her farewells to her mother and Christine, then headed off towards the sitting room. She imagined that the servants were working on clearing all the windows in the palace.

"Did the prince ask you to do this?" she asked in awe.

"Mhm," Antoinette nodded, smiling over her shoulder. "He seems to want to bring a more...homely feeling to the palace."

Antoinette led Christine out through the front door and down a side path a few feet from the stairwell. They approached a wooden building. Standing outside was Erik who was running a thick brush through the white mane of a pale brown horse. Christine recognized the animal immediately. “Phillipe!” she cried, a large smile crossing her features.

At her voice, Erik turned. He watched her as she raced up to the horse, taking his muzzle in her hands. She studied where the arrow and skimmed him and found it had already been cleaned and bandaged. The horse whinnied happily as she threw her arm around his neck and buried his face in his long mane.

“You actually found him!” Christine exclaimed, tears falling from her eyes. She was kind of embarrassed by her reaction, but she had known this horse her entire life. The thought of losing him was nearly unbearable.

“I promised you I would, didn’t I?” Erik responded, placing a hand carefully on the small of her back. “Perhaps when your shoulder is healed, we can go riding. We have quite a large corral for the palace horses, though only Cesar remains.”

Christine looked over at Erik, the tears of joy still falling. “Thank you. This means more to me than you could possibly know.” His fur and mane had been washed, Christine could feel. He felt silky and soft under her fingers. When Christine looked at Erik again, she could see the sleeves of his suit pushed up to the elbows. He hadn't just found Phillipe. He had completely cleaned and nursed him as well. Her heart swelled with gratitude. 

“We’ll take good care of him here, Christine,” Antoinette spoke. “No more cold nights alone with no food. Cesar will be glad of the company.”

She couldn’t find the words. Instead, she threw herself against Erik, her arm around his neck. He returned her embrace. “You’re welcome,” he whispered into her hair.

"I hope he wasn't a bother to find. I didn't want you trouble yourself..."

Erik shook his head, pulling away from her embrace. "It was my fault he was lost in the first place. And he wasn't all that hard to find. He was waiting where he lost he. Seemed confused when I couldn't find where you had gotten off to. He's a very well-trained horse."

"My father took good care of him. Now he returned the favor." Christine looked gleefully back at Phillipe, who snorted and pawed at the ground, shaking his great mane.

“Antoinette," Erik ordered, "show Phillipe our best." He brought his attention back to Christine and held his arm out to her. "If you'll allow me, there’s something else I want to show you.”

Christine smiled, brushing the tears away. She wound her arm through his, holding tightly to his strong forearm. “Lead the way.”

Erik brought her back the way she had come, Antoinette staying behind to take care of Phillipe. She wondered excitedly what he could possibly want to show her next. He had already gone above and beyond what she had expected of him, making her feel safer and happier than she had in what felt a very long time.


End file.
